


The Catalyst

by ProjectKITT



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-08 11:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 90,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14693640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectKITT/pseuds/ProjectKITT
Summary: Injured in an accident and discovered by Autobots, the Decepticon weapons specialist finds himself under Ratchet's care. Will his interactions with the Autobot medic be enough to make Ironhide change sides? OCs in minor roles only. Pre-Movieverse with elements from the Aligned continuity (Exodus and Prime).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is not a new story but it is new to AO3 (as am I, at this present moment). Anyway, this was originally posted on FanFiction.net and I have not done any editing or rewriting from what is posted over there. It was also my first work of fanfiction and I learned quite a lot writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it and I'm looking forward to meeting the community over here at AO3! Have a great day!

Ironhide idled in front of the large hangar door as it slowly slid open. He waited until it was just high enough to fit under before he rumbled through and sped off under the dark blue sky of early morning.

With the Cybertronian sun still far below the horizon, Ironhide's jet-black alt mode was almost invisible. He drove swiftly across the barren landscape, moving at speeds that belied the weight of his frame and leaving only a fleeting trail of dust behind him. Even the tracks from his heavy tread were quickly erased by the prevailing winds.

The Badlands surrounding Kaon were vast indeed. However, the battle-scarred warrior was more than familiar with the rugged terrain. He knew every mountain, every rocky outcropping, every pebble, and he could recognize them all with hardly a passing glance. He could probably even navigate the region using nothing more than the feeling of the ground under his tires, his missions placed him there so often.

This time, he was to meet up with Shockwave and a few other Decepticon scientists in Tarn. It was a drive that would take him the entire orn to complete. He had not been told what the purpose of the meeting was, but he assumed it would be something that required his skill in the field of weapons technology.

Ironhide's considerable military prowess had also helped earn him a high rank in Megatron's forces, and as a result, he collaborated with some of the top Decepticon innovators on a regular basis. He had worked with not only Shockwave, the reputedly-mad scientist, but also the explosives expert Dreadwing, and even the self-absorbed medic Knock Out from time to time. Like the three of them, Ironhide had sided with the Decepticons at the beginning of the war.

Megatron had been the first mech in decavorns to challenge the caste system and propose a better future for Cybertron. The former gladiator's revolutionary ideas had captured the attention of all those who heard them, and when the proponents of a new political system had split into two factions, most stayed with Megatron for that very reason.

Most, but not all. There were some who joined that rogue faction known as the Autobots.

Yet as unlikely as it might seem, Ironhide did not wish to fight the Autobots. He was a warrior, yes, but his motivation had always been to _protect_ life. The Autobots did not seem inherently malicious, so the conflict with them made him feel a bit... uneasy.

Of course he would never admit that to anyone. Decepticons did not express such emotions, did not show weakness in any way. Especially not commanders like himself.

No, the weapons specialist would not share his concerns. He chose instead to ponder over them as he traveled alone across the uninhabited territory.

But the region held no answers. The only thing Ironhide was sure of was that he was loyal to his cause, and that meant he would fight against the Autobots—until there was a peace agreement.

He did not know why the two factions had not yet come to an understanding. The Autobots supposedly had the same vision for Cybertronian society as Megatron did, namely a free Cybertron where every individual had the right to choose for themselves. But if that was true, why did they oppose Megatron?

What did they think they were fighting for?

_Primus knows,_ Ironhide thought dismissively as he adjusted his speed to accommodate the increasingly rocky ground. Even though the terrain did not pose much of a challenge for him—his alt mode was quite suitable for it—he would have rather traveled by ship. He could certainly make better time that way.

But ships were easier to detect on radar. And according to the Autobot-Decepticon rules of engagement, which had been agreed to by both sides, armed ships were not allowed in neutral zones.

All Decepticon ships were armed. So he was driving.

Not that he was supposed to be in the neutral zone. The route he had been given only bordered it, but he was cutting across to save time. Why his superiors had chosen such a circuitous route in the first place was a mystery. They did it every time, and usually Ironhide followed it anyway, but for this particular mission he had decided not to. After all, it was highly unlikely that he would run into any Autobots. They did not usually get so close to Decepticon territory, and had never been seen in the area that he was currently traversing.

Probably because there was nothing important to be found there, nor was there anything scenic to look at that would make the journey even mildly interesting. Not to someone who had seen it all countless times before, anyway. Everything started to look the same after a while.

Turning his attention inward, Ironhide began perusing the data files he had on the Autobots. He had comprehensive information about almost all of them. Or at the very least, all of the important ones—Soundwave's surveillance work only focused on what was useful—and even though Ironhide was taking a shortcut, he would still have plenty of time to review the files. He always found it sensible to stay current with the latest information.

The file he was reading at that moment was not new, but it was one of the ones he found the most baffling. No matter how many times he read it, he still did not understand it. Not at all.

The new Prime was a _librarian_. A data clerk from the Hall of Records! Before his association with Megatron—or Megatronus, as he was called at the time—no one had even heard of the mech. How could he possibly have what it takes to lead even a small army?

Let alone an entire civilization? If there had not been a war, that was what the librarian Orion Pax would be doing instead. Leading all of Cybertron.

Actually, the red and blue mech was not known as Orion Pax anymore. He had been given a different designation when the High Council named him Prime. What was it again? Frag, Ironhide just read the file...

Optimus. That was it.

Not that it really made much difference—no matter what the Prime was called, he was still a librarian in his spark—but for Primus' sake, was _everyone_ going to change their designation whenever they assumed a new function? Ironhide certainly hoped not. He had already updated all of his data files. _Twice._

No one else better change their designation anytime soon... The thought of updating his files a third time was almost as irritating as the sand clinging relentlessly to his fenders.

All of a sudden, Ironhide's musings were brought to an abrupt halt as his scanners detected the threat. A landmine was buried just below the ground in front of him.

Warnings flashed across his HUD and he swerved instantly, his tires kicking up a flurry of sand, but it was already too late. The device detonated with enough force to flip his alt mode and throw it into the air. The explosion also stunned him and he instinctively transformed, just finishing the sequence before crashing hard into the ground.

/* * */

In the command center of the Autobot base in Iacon, Jazz was alone as he attentively watched the monitors in front of him. It was a boring job, staring at the screens all orn and waiting for something to happen, but somebody needed to keep an optic on the Decepticons. At least the silver minibot could take some solace in the fact that his duties were not ordinarily so monotonous.

Usually, the Autobots' head of intelligence would be spending his time doing things far more interesting. Things like interrogating prisoners, hacking into encrypted data networks, intercepting private comm links and then impersonating the mech that was supposed to be on the other end, or whatever else he needed to do to obtain useful information from the Decepticons. Those were Jazz's typical duties, which in reality were not typical at all. Every time was different.

Unlike the screens in front of him, which had not changed by a single pixel in the last six joors. He had even rebooted the terminal to make sure it was still sending updates to the monitors. Of course it was—there was just nothing to update.

Jazz really hoped he would not be assigned to monitor duty more often. He almost considered asking Ratchet if it was possible for a mech's processor to glitch from an overload of boredom if said mech had to... Wait, what was that? In sector 242?

It looked the same as all the other sectors, but Jazz _knew_ it had flashed for an astrosecond. He had seen it out of the corner of his optic. Or... had he? Could his mind be playing tricks on him?

Maybe he really should ask Ratchet...

And get a wrench thrown at his helm? No way! Jazz instead typed a few commands into the terminal, instructing it to set aside a recording of the sector in question over the last breem. He could review it later, but first he wanted to make sure he did not miss anything else that might suddenly appear on the screen.

Several more breems passed and nothing happened. Jazz sighed quietly, starting to wonder if he had just been seeing things. Another moment passed uneventfully before he decided to play the recording. He watched it closely, but there was nothing... No, there was something! He had seen right!

It looked like... an explosion?

What was out there that could have caused that? There was... well, not much of anything out there.

Jazz played the recording again, this time pausing it on the frame with the clearest view. That still left him with a slightly blurry satellite image, but it was the best he would get.

_What I need now,_ the silver minibot thought, _is an expert opinion._ He opened a comm link to the mech who he thought might be able to provide it.

"Hey, Wheeljack? You know a lot about explosives, right?"

_"You could say that,"_ Wheeljack replied. _"Why?"_

"I got something on one of the monitors, and I was wondering if you'd take a look at it."

_"No problem. I'll be there in a breem."_

Jazz continued to study the image until he heard Wheeljack enter the room, then he looked up as the white, red, and green engineer strolled in and moved to stand beside him. Wheeljack had not wasted any time, arriving in less than a breem.

"All right, Jazz. What did you find?"

"I'm not really sure. I was hoping you'd know." Jazz pressed a key, replaying the surveillance data. "Picked this up in a neutral zone. Looks like an explosion if you ask me, but it could've been caused by anything."

Wheeljack studied the footage carefully. "No, not anything. You're right that it's an explosion, but I can tell you it's not from a personal weapon. It would have had to have come from something bigger, like a ship or mining explosives."

Jazz considered that for a moment. "Either way, it's 'Cons doing things they shouldn't be doing. They're not supposed to have any ships out there. Or explosives."

"Yeah, like that ever stopped them." Wheeljack leaned closer to the screen before asking his colleague, "Are there any 'Con signals in the area?"

"I'm not picking up any."

"Hmm... That might just mean they're hiding them from us."

"I was thinking exactly the same thing." Jazz opened another comm link. "Optimus?"

Optimus's deep voice crackled over the private channel. _"Go ahead, Jazz."_

"We've got possible Decepticon activity in the Badlands. Permission to send someone to investigate?"

_"Permission granted. Do we have any Autobots within driving distance of the location?"_

Jazz looked up the locations of all Autobots currently on patrol. "Yeah, actually we do. Let me contact 'Bee."

/* * */

Bumblebee's patrol had so far been uneventful, not that he was going to complain about that. Being in Autobot territory and not finding any signs of Decepticons was definitely a good thing. The fact that his team also had eyes in the sky helped to allay any fears the young scout may have had about missing something important. While he was good at what he did, the truth was that he had a lot of ground to cover.

Bumblebee continued driving along the empty stretch of road. It was in a region that he patrolled often, although to prevent his movements from becoming too predictable, he took different routes each time. This one was particularly devoid of other mechs, but he did not feel alone. He could see the skyline of Crystal City in the distance.

It reminded him of why he had chosen to become an Autobot. The beautiful city was—like many other places on Cybertron—teeming with innocent civilians that needed to be protected from Megatron's tyrannic rule. Bumblebee was eager to learn everything he could to help keep them safe. As many of them as possible.

_Maybe someday,_ the young mech sincerely hoped, _I'll be skilled enough to join the warrior class..._ But he could worry about that when the time came. His primary focus had to be the present because his teammates, and Primus knows how many neutral Cybertronians, needed him to perform his duties to the best of his ability. Even though he was only a scout, others' lives could still depend on him.

It may have seemed like a heavy burden for such a young mech, but Bumblebee would not have wanted it to be any other way. It was the only way he could help save Cybertron. And besides, his brothers-in-arms were always there to offer him support when he needed it. They were truly like family.

Bumblebee was just about to head back to base when his internal comm pinged, signaling an incoming transmission from base. He accepted it right away, but did not even have time to transmit a greeting because Jazz spoke first. The silver minibot sounded excited, yet somehow just as cool and collected as always.

_"Bumblebee, you there? We picked up an unusual energy spike relatively close to your location."_

"I'm here. What kind of energy spike?" Bumblebee asked curiously.

_"Some kind of explosion. We're not sure what caused it, but Wheeljack thinks the 'Cons might be mining for energon or something."_

"Maybe, but shouldn't you be able to detect that?"

_"That's the thing. I didn't pick up any energon readings. Whatever they're doing, they must be trying to make sure we don't notice it."_

"I see. What are the coordinates?"

_"I'm sending them now."_

Bumblebee waited for the transmission to download, then he looked up the coordinates. They placed the unknown energy spike in a neutral zone bordering Decepticon territory, anarea that was actually quite far from his current location.

"I'd hardly call that close, Jazz," the yellow scout teased him. "Where on Cybertron did you learn to read a map?"

That earned a chuckle from the silver minibot. _"I can read just fine, and I said 'relatively close'. Believe it or not, it's closer to you than anyone else. We've got no other 'Bots anywhere near there."_

"All right. I'll check it out," Bumblebee replied as he began plotting an appropriate course.

_"Thanks, 'Bee. Report back as soon as you find something."_

"Will do. Bumblebee out." He cut the comm link and spun around, then accelerated to a good cruising speed—one that would allow him to cover ground more quickly, but without expending too much energy.

After all, it was going to be a long drive.


	2. Chapter 2

Ironhide groaned as he woke up. His entire frame ached, badly, and he did not even have to open his optics to know that there was a blindingly bright light somewhere above him. He could practically feel it...

And he felt like he was overheating.

He knew he was lying on his back, but he did not know where.

"Frag," he rasped, coughing harshly for a moment before falling silent. He vented deeply, keeping his optics offline as he focused on the myriad of error messages that flared red on the edges of his HUD. He initiated a self-diagnostic and quickly scanned the area around him.

Contrary to Ironhide's expectations, his scanners did not detect anything noteworthy. No other mechs, no structures... Only high amounts of ultraviolet radiation, which indicated that he was... _outside._

It was the sun's rays that were beating down on him, causing his core temperature to rise to dangerously high levels. The effect was no doubt being intensified by the color of his armor.

_Fraggin' black paint!_ He turned on his cooling fans, mildly irritated that they had not come on automatically.

The relief was almost immediate and Ironhide lay still, giving his overheated systems time to cool off, before he onlined his optics. He found himself blinded by sunlight and he lifted his arm, turning his hand to block the sun, until his optics adjusted to sudden influx of light. Once they did, he focused on the environment around him, trying to ascertain why he was there.

As he looked out at the empty landscape, suddenly he remembered—he was on a mission. He was on a mission and he had run over a landmine. A Decepticon landmine.

The explosion must have offlined him.

"Ironhide to base..."

No answer.

The black mech tried again. "Decepticon base, this is Ironhide. Do you read?"

Still nothing. He huffed, noting that his comm system must be damaged.

How long had he been out, anyway? Ironhide checked his chronometer only to find that it was also not working. Concerned by that, he turned his attention to the diagnostic, frowning slightly at the results.

His communications and weapons systems were completely offline, his scanners were functioning but barely above minimum capacity, and his energon levels were critically low. There were other warnings as well, mostly cataloging the injuries he had sustained, but Ironhide ignored them. It was not like he needed the diagnostic to know he was injured—the pain was indication enough. It was getting more intense as his sensory net came fully online.

Ironhide shifted in discomfort, but that only made it worse. He bit back a pained yelp and tried to sit up, testing the limits of his damaged frame, realizing it was a mistake soon after he attempted it. He cried out softly as the pain became unbearable, and it was all he could do to ease himself back down. He vented hard, trembling until it subsided.

The sand had obviously done nothing to help break his fall, and there was no way he would be able to make it to Tarn or back to base. He was completely and utterly stranded.

_Starscream is going to hear about this_... In fact, Ironhide intended to personally give that arrogant Seeker a piece of his mind. He could do that, being of equal rank, and he knew he was not the only one who would. Megatron was certainly going to be less than pleased with the setback.

A setback that the leader of the Decepticons was not even going to know about anytime soon. Based on the sun's position, Ironhide estimated the time to be approximately mid-orn. He was not expected at the rendezvous point until past nightfall, so no one would realize anything had gone wrong until he failed to arrive. It could take joors after that for a search team to locate him, maybe longer since he was not exactly on his assigned route.

Scrap. He would just have to wait.

Ironhide evaluated the few alternatives he had available, eventually deciding that the most prudent course of action would be a partial power-down. He set his scanners to remain on high-alert and notify him of any disturbance. The fact that they were hardly functioning did not bode well for his peace of mind, but anything was better than nothing and he needed to conserve energy. It was either that or risk going into complete stasis lock before anyone found him.

That would be... humiliating. At best.

With a reluctant sigh, he shuttered his optics and initiated the power-down command.

/* * */

As Bumblebee neared the coordinates, he slowed down. He would have to be more careful now—this region was littered with mines, and the Decepticons could be anywhere.

_So far, so good._ He maintained a slow pace, scanning the area as he went. _No signs of 'Cons..._

Bumblebee continued ahead until his scanners detected several bits of metal on the ground. Shrapnel maybe? He came to a stop and transformed, reaching down to pick up one of the tiny pieces. He flipped it over in his hand, examining it, and noted that there were traces of explosives on its surface.

It was definitely shrapnel. Perhaps there had been a fight of some kind?

What the fight might have been about, Bumblebee had no idea. He walked farther, following the metal shards, until his scanners picked up something else. Energon.

Then he spotted the prone form of a black Cybertronian.

The mech was lying on his back, silent and not moving, but Bumblebee did not want to risk getting too close. He took just a few steps closer, only what he needed to get close enough to scan for a spark signal. When he detected one, he knew he needed to call for backup.

"Bumblebee to base. I have something to report."

Not surprisingly, Jazz answered. _"Go ahead, Bumblebee."_

"There is a Cybertronian near my current location. I believe he's injured."

Jazz paused a moment before replying. _"All right. Can you tell if it's a neutral or a 'Con?"_

"A Decepticon I think," Bumblebee transmitted as he zoomed-in for a better view. "He's heavily armed."

_"You in any danger?"_

"I don't think so. He appears to be in stasis."

_"Okay, then just sit tight. I'll send a team to your location."_ Jazz did not need to tell him to be careful. Bumblebee was young, but competent. He would know to fall back if the situation changed.

"Got it. Bumblebee out." The scout moved a short distance away and transformed into vehicle mode, preparing to wait for the others' arrival. He was out in the open, but the sun was setting and soon he would be under the cover of darkness.

/* * */

Bumblebee looked up at silvery light of Cybertron's moons. While the cool nighttime air was a welcome relief from the unforgiving heat he had dealt with earlier, he knew now was not the time to dwell on comfort. He kept his scanners focused on his surroundings, in case any other Decepticons decided to show up, and on the black mech, who had still not moved at all.

More time passed. Bumblebee was just beginning to wonder if it would be safe to approach the fallen Cybertronian when the wind picked up, diverting his attention. He quickly realized that it was not wind in the normal sense, but rather the kind of strong, steady breeze that would be caused by... a ship.

Mildly alarmed that he had not detected it earlier, Bumblebee quickly glanced skyward and was relieved to see that it was an Autobot ship, one of the smaller models that they often used for search and rescue missions. The sleek vessel was operating without navigation lights, most likely to minimize the chance of being seen from a distance. The quiet whisper of its muffled engines further corroborated an attempt at stealth. Almost soundlessly, it pivoted in midair and then gently touched down.

The yellow scout transformed as three of his teammates promptly disembarked and walked up to him. Ultra Magnus approached first, followed by Bulkhead, and then Ratchet.

After exchanging a few short greetings, Bumblebee proceeded to detail the observations he had made since arriving. He explained what he had found either by sight or through his scans, and how he had determined that the black Cybertronian had been the victim of a landmine and that the mech was almost certainly a Decepticon, but until they got closer, they could not know for sure.

Ratchet was the first to ask, "Where is he?"

"Over there." Bumblebee pointed to where the Cybertronian lay motionless in the sand.

"All right," Ultra Magnus said as he powered up his weapon. "Bulkhead, circle around the far side. Ratchet, come with me."

Bumblebee wanted to stay out of the way so he did not follow, although he did attentively watch as Bulkhead circled wide around the black Cybertronian and Ultra Magnus approached more directly.

Ratchet followed close behind Ultra Magnus as they approached the seemingly-unconscious mech. When they reached him, the Autobot commander held out his arm, signaling the medic not to move ahead. They could now clearly see the Decepticon emblem forged on his chest.

Several more seconds passed and the Decepticon gave no indication of coming online. Ultra Magnus lowered his arm and Ratchet gingerly stepped forward, activating his medical scanner. A basic scan confirmed that the Decepticon was indeed in stasis, and not just feigning such a condition in an attempt to deceive them.

"He's offline," the medic said softly. Ultra Magnus and Bulkhead kept their weapons on standby as Ratchet knelt down to get a better look at the Decepticon's injuries.

His pitch-black armor was stained with energon, and he was even then losing more as it trickled from several cut lines that had yet to seal themselves. Ratchet reached for one of them, and gently touched it. As soon as he did, they all heard the unmistakable hum of systems coming online.

Ratchet was already moving to back up but the Decepticon onlined quickly, glancing at him with vivid red optics for less than a second before he harshly pushed the medic away, knocking the stocky Autobot back a few steps.

"Get back, Ratch!" Bulkhead yelled as he and Ultra Magnus lunged forward, swiftly pinning the Decepticon's arms to the ground. The injured mech struggled to get out of their grip, but they overpowered him with ease.

"Release me, Autobot punks!"

"Stand down!"

Ultra Magnus's order only made the Decepticon fight harder.

"Give it up, 'Con! You're outnumbered!" Bulkhead transformed one hand into a battle mace as a warning, but the tenacious Decepticon did not even seem to notice.

But it did not matter. Bulkhead could tell that the mech was tiring fast and would not be able to fight much longer.

/* * */

It was dark outside when Ironhide's scanners abruptly woke him. Someone was there, dangerously close.

A chartreuse mech whom he did not recognize.

As his vision came into focus, he realized that the mech was an Autobot.

He had to defend himself. Gathering what strength he could, he shoved the Autobot back.

He heard a yell, and suddenly his arms were pinned to the ground. He was being restrained by two other Autobots.

Ironhide grunted, struggling against their hold. Under normal circumstances, he would have had almost no trouble dispatching two mechs, but the loss of energon was taking a heavy toll on his strength. The Autobots held him down as if it required no effort at all.

He snarled, "Release me, Autobot punks!"

"Stand down!" the blue mech—whom Ironhide now recognized as Ultra Magnus—demanded.

Ironhide knew that Ultra Magnus was second in command to Optimus Prime, and the leader of an Autobot special ops team called the Wreckers. The other mech pinning him down, the bulky green one, was most likely a member of the Wreckers.

It would be impossible to fend them off, but Ironhide was not inclined to give up. He fought harder, desperately trying to free himself.

"Give it up, 'Con! You're outnumbered!"

Ironhide's vents were heaving from the effort, and only another handful of seconds passed before he needed to stop. The additional strain, as short-lived as it was, had proven to be too much for his already overtaxed systems.

Seeing that the Decepticon was for the moment incapable of fighting, Ultra Magnus called out, "Doctor!"

So they had brought a medic... _Probably to incapacitate me,_ the weapons specialist thought derisively as he continued to pant. Too exhausted to do anything else, he only tensed weakly as the chartreuse mech knelt beside him and cut the control wiring for his cannons.

Ironhide had no other weapons, having never needed any. The Autobots must have assumed as much because the two holding him down then disarmed their blasters, apparently deeming that physical force would be enough to subdue him should he try anything untoward.

Then the medic stood and accessed something on his forearm, shifting his focus away from the Decepticon. Ironhide relaxed slightly and looked away, only to stiffen when he felt the tingle of a medical scan brush over his frame.

The medic analyzed the readings quickly, but thoroughly. Then he knelt down again and began working to stabilize the Decepticon's condition. Ironhide flinched at the medic's touch, but made no move to pull away. He just did not have the strength, and so he silently resigned himself to whatever the Autobot might do.

As the medic continued to patch the worst of the damage, a fourth Autobot wandered over to observe the unusual scene with curiosity. The medic addressed him without even looking up from his work.

"Bumblebee, get my medical kit please. And bring the ship closer."

"You got it, Ratch!" The yellow mech scampered off, seeming excited to have been given an opportunity to fly the ship.

The wind picked up as the ship moved to a closer location. The Autobots shielded themselves and the injured Decepticon from the flying sand that was briefly stirred up by its engines.

Then the scout returned with the requested medical kit. The medic accepted it gratefully, and obtained what he needed to brace Ironhide's ankle. It did not take him long to finish.

"All right, I've done what I need to here. Let's move him." The medic positioned himself to support Ironhide's right side, while the green Wrecker moved to the left. "Easy, Bulkhead. On three. One... Two... Three."

Ironhide tensed as the two Autobots lifted him off the ground, though he relaxed somewhat as they carried him to a miniature yet fully-equipped med bay in the hold of the ship. They carefully laid him on a berth and he blinked dazedly, feeling like he might pass out at any moment and not really caring if he did.

A sharp prick in Ironhide's wrist reminded him that he was still awake. He winced as the medic gently pushed the needle deeper, piercing an energon line underneath the black armor panels, then taped it in place. The other Autobots restrained Ironhide to the berth with stasis cuffs, but it was not done in a way that caused any unnecessary discomfort. The weapons specialist was inwardly relieved at that.

Once the Decepticon was secure, Bumblebee and the one called Bulkhead vacated to the front of the ship. Ultra Magnus stayed behind to query the medic.

"What is his status?"

The medic wearily lifted his blue optics to meet his commander's gaze before answering. "He has sustained multiple serious injuries, most notably a fractured pelvis and the resulting loss of energon. His ankle is also broken. I've started him on an energon drip, infused with a light sedative. He is reasonably alert and his condition is currently stable. I will have a full report ready by the time we land."

"Understood." Ultra Magnus stepped away from the berth. "Thank you, Doctor."

The medic lowered his gaze respectfully and nodded in reply. Ultra Magnus then departed to pilot the vessel, leaving the medic and his patient alone in the hold of the ship.

Ironhide watched idly as the medic continued running tests on him, likely evaluating his response to treatment. He still felt drained, but getting some energon in his tanks was helping with that.

It did not mean he felt like drawing the Autobot's attention, so when the medic stepped back to analyze the test results, Ironhide began absently staring at ceiling. The room was silent except for the sound of the medic's stylus as he quietly scribbled on a datapad.

Autobot ships must have good soundproofing, the weapons specialist thought, because he could not hear any sounds from the outside.

Even after the medic moved to stand beside the berth again, Ironhide kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling above. He knew that the chartreuse mech was now openly studying him, but he did not care and so he said nothing. He did not feel like talking, and he doubted that the Autobot had anything to say to him anyway.

It soon became clear that he had misjudged, because the medic did break the lengthy silence.

"My designation is Ratchet. I am an Autobot field medic." Ratchet paused expectantly, as if waiting for a reply, but Ironhide only looked at him.

Concluding that the Decepticon was not going to say anything to that, Ratchet spoke again. "Would you mind telling me your designation?"

The question sounded sincere, rather than rude, and Ironhide briefly wondered if the medic was attempting to foster a rapport with him. Although not without suspicion, the weapons specialist did feel decidedly less guarded now that he was no longer surrounded by Autobot warriors. He shifted his gaze to nothing in particular as he took a moment to consider his reply.

Why would the medic want to know his designation? It was not like he needed it to do his job. For all Ironhide knew, the mech—Ratchet—only wanted the information to give to his superiors. What reason did Ironhide have to willingly provide it?

But then again, it would only be a matter of time before the Autobots did identify him. Was there really any point in delaying the inevitable? And Ratchet had treated him with more kindness than would be expected for a prisoner of war...

Coming to a conclusion, Ironhide decided that he would give the medic a sign of good faith—but just one, for now. He looked back at Ratchet, who was still waiting patiently for his response.

"It's Ironhide."


	3. Chapter 3

"Ironhide?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Megatron's weapons specialist?"

"That's what he said."

Jazz eyed the medic incredulously. "And you're just gonna take his word for it?"

Ratchet huffed. "Of course not. I didn't emerge from the Well of AllSparks yesterday." He finished gathering his diagnostic tools from the med bay before stepping out into the hangar. The ship had landed in Iacon a half joor ago, and everyone else who had been onboard was now elsewhere. Ratchet had stayed behind to prepare the ship's med bay for its next use, then Jazz showed up and had been following on the medic's heels ever since, hoping to procure more details about the mission.

The silver minibot continued with his questions, completely undeterred by his companion's gruff retorts.

"Then how do you plan to find out for sure?"

Ratchet stopped beside the small search and rescue ship, which looked significantly larger now that it was inside. "I've already asked Punch to verify everything the Decepticon said. I'm just waiting for his report."

"Gotcha..." Jazz leaned nonchalantly against the ship's hull. "So where's the 'Con now? In the brig?"

"No, the med bay."

"The med bay!" Jazz quickly pushed himself off the hull to return to a standing position. "Someone's watchin' him, right?"

"Calm down, Jazz. I sedated him. Everything's fine."

The silver minibot was not quite convinced. "You sure?"

"Positive." Ratchet turned to to leave. "Now, I suggest you go get some recharge."

"Whatever you say, Doc."

"And stop calling me that!" the medic yelled over his shoulder as he continued walking. Jazz only grinned, watching him go.

As Ratchet left the hangar, a ping on his internal comm system indicated that the report he had been waiting for was ready. He accessed it while also sending a quick message to Optimus, notifying him that the Decepticon prisoner was in stasis in the med bay and that he himself would be there shortly.

The medic knew that he probably should have gone to recharge as well. It was already very late and his HUD kept reminding him that he had hardly recharged in the past few orns, but he wanted to get things settled in the med bay first. Then he could go to the wash racks. Then he could recharge.

The walk to the med bay did not take long. Ratchet was there in a matter of breems.

He was glad to find that no one was around. No one besides his patient, anyway. His _Decepticon_ patient. Oh, the irony of that situation... Ratchet had been shot at on more occasions than he cared to remember, and had even been hit a few times, yet here he was treating one of _them_.

But in all honesty, Ratchet was not rendering aid to the mech simply because he had been ordered to do it—he had been, but even if he had not, he would have done it anyway. He would have because it was the right thing to do, and because he could not stand to see another Cybertronian in pain. Even if it was a Decepticon who deserved it.

Curse his medical programming, making him care about even an enemy.

Ratchet walked over to the berth where Ironhide lay in induced stasis. He ran another scan over the unconscious mech, tabulating the results and then comparing them with those he had obtained previously.

His overall condition was improving, his fractures had set properly, and all of his vital signs looked good. In short, he was recovering well and as expected. Ratchet entered the data into Ironhide's medical file.

Having completed his evaluation of the black mech's critical injuries, the medic began checking for any minor damage that had not yet been treated. Then he noticed the three faded but still visible glyphs that were imprinted on the Decepticon's helm.

Ratchet had seen the glyphs earlier, but they had been so covered in sandy dust that he had not really been able to read them. He moved closer, brushing some of the dust away.

To his surprise, the glyphs represented honor, courage, and strength. While the last two seemed more or less fitting for a Decepticon, the first one definitely did not.

_Honor_...

The last time Ratchet had seen a mech bearing that glyph, he thought his life was over. He was sure of it. In the middle of the battlefield, staring down the barrel of the most formidable weapon he had ever seen and caught in the frighteningly intense red glare of the mech wielding it, he knew it was the end. He had thought about his patient who still needed him, and he thought about how he was letting his team down and how he was powerless to do anything about it. And the strange thing was, after those thoughts, he had thought about how ironic it was to be needlessly terminated by a mech who bore any symbol of honor. He could see the glyph so clearly as he just waited for the Decepticon to fire...

"Ratchet?"

"Hmm?" Ratchet pushed the thought away, and looked up to see Optimus standing a short distance from him.

"Are you all right?" the Prime asked gently.

"I'm fine. Just... tired." It was a true statement. True enough, at least.

Optimus studied him for a moment longer, not seeming entirely convinced by the explanation, but he did not press the matter. "It has been a long orn."

"You can say that again." Ratchet was relieved to change the subject. "It isn't very often that we capture a high-ranking Decepticon."

"Indeed not." Actually, it had only happened twice. Including this time.

Optimus and Ratchet both turned at the sound of another mech entering the med bay. It was Jazz, and the smaller Autobot quietly closed the door behind himself before he moved to stand by the wall.

Ratchet sighed, running a hand over his face and muttering under his breath, "Primus, does that mech ever recharge?"

Optimus moved to the side of the berth opposite Ratchet, to avoid blocking Jazz's view and to get a closer look at their prisoner. Jazz, for his part, seemed perfectly comfortable observing from a distance.

The Prime looked back at Ironhide, who was completely still except for the gentle cycling of air through his vents, cooling his systems as he recharged. The Autobot leader also noted that the mech's wrists were bound by stasis cuffs, but his ankles were not. It was evidently because of his injuries.

"So this is Ironhide, the Decepticon weapons specialist?" Optimus knew of the mech, but had not actually seen him before.

"Yes," Ratchet replied. "And he also serves as a field commander in Megatron's army."

"I see." Then the black Decepticon was not just a weapons engineer—he was skilled in combat as well. "How much of a fight did he put up?"

"When he was captured? About as much as you would expect, given his condition. However, he was quite well-behaved on the ship. He even spoke openly with me for a while, until his fatigue got the best of him. Punch also confirmed that everything he told me was true. I found that surprising, considering his affiliation."

"I am not entirely surprised. From what little I know about Ironhide, he seems to be one of the few Decepticons who values honesty."

"Blunt honesty, maybe," Jazz cut in from where he was watching across the med bay. He started walking over to the berth.

"I thought I told you to go recharge," Ratchet griped, not trying to hide his exasperation.

Jazz was not flustered in the least. He knew Ratchet well enough to know that the medic's temper was just a coping mechanism, and it was nothing personal. "You did, and I was, but... I don't know. I got bored."

"You got _bored_? How can you possibly get bored when you're not awake?"

Jazz just shrugged, smiling wryly at the medic's annoyed glare, before turning to look at Ironhide. "So... this 'Con is at least somewhat honest, huh?"

"It appears so." Optimus paused, his expression becoming thoughtful. "I believe he does not yet understand that Megatron values no such thing. We may have an opportunity to convince him to leave the Decepticon cause."

"You think he'd join us?" Jazz was doubtful.

"That I do not know. It would depend on where his loyalties truly lie, and how strongly he has committed himself against the Autobots. Perhaps it is possible."

Although Ratchet did not personally think that it was a likely scenario, he respected his leader's judgment. "Perhaps, Optimus. Would you like to be here when he comes out of stasis?"

Optimus considered that for a moment. "No. I am not sure how he will react to my presence, and I do not wish for him to feel unduly threatened. I will see him after he has had some time to adjust."

"Very well. I'll keep you updated on his condition."

"Thank you, Ratchet. How long do you plan to keep him in stasis?"

"I've administered enough sedative to last the night. He should regain consciousness on his own soon after it wears off, though he probably won't be completely lucid right away."

As if in response to the medic's claim, Ironhide's venting pattern changed, becoming quicker and more erratic.

Jazz glanced anxiously at Ratchet. "Is he... waking up?"

"No, that's just part of his recharge cycle. It's a sign that he's recharging properly."

Optimus glanced at the medic. "Perhaps you should also get some rest, Ratchet."

"Shouldn't we all, Prime?"

The flame-patterned mech chuckled at that. "Indeed. Let's go."

/* * */

Ironhide came to very early the next orn. He never remembered waking up so sluggishly before—it was as if his systems did not want to respond to his processor's commands. It was rather disconcerting, as was the dull yet widespread pain in his chassis that finally registered after his systems finished rebooting. He tried to recall how he had gotten injured, but found he could not concentrate enough to do even that.

He took a few deep vents to steel himself before onlining his optics.

It was bright. Too bright. He squinted against the harsh overhead lighting and tried to focus on his surroundings. Though his vision remained fuzzy, he could make out the distinct shapes of medical equipment above him. It did not look like the Kaon med bay... He shuttered his optics, the brightness finally being too much to endure. He was dimly aware that something near him was beeping, but he gave it no more thought as he blindly attempted to haul himself to a sitting position.

"Easy, Ironhide."

Ironhide felt someone pushing him back, trying to limit his movement. He reacted to the touch instantly, and attempted to power up his weapons.

"Easy... It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

When his weapons failed to activate, Ironhide onlined his optics and was met with the bright blue gaze of the Autobot medic, who was standing next to him.

Ratchet lightly pressed his hand against Ironhide's chest plates, coaxing him to lie back down. "Don't try to get up just yet."

Now remembering everything that had happened, Ironhide did not resist the medic's order. He leaned back against the flat metal surface of the berth and sighed heavily, closing his optics before once again giving in to the fatigue that had beleaguered him ever since he had woken up on the desert floor.

/* * */

Ironhide onlined several more times during the remainder of the orn, and Ratchet was always nearby to monitor his patient's condition.

The weapons specialist was becoming increasingly more alert and aware of his surroundings, a sign that his condition was continuing to improve. He could also stay awake for longer amounts of time, even though it was never for more than a joor or two.

"How much longer does he have to be on the drip?" Jazz had asked Ratchet on one of the occasions when Ironhide was in recharge.

"Another orn at least. It depends on how readily his systems adapt to it."

Jazz had not really been surprised. He was not a medic, but even he knew that was to be expected. Ironhide had lost a lot of energon, and considering the bulky mech's sizable frame, his transfusion would necessarily take a while. Receiving it too quickly would cause him to feel nauseous, if not purge his tanks.

Not that Jazz was inclined to care if a Decepticon felt a little queasy. Why Ratchet did was beyond him. Perhaps it was just the medic's dissimilar medical programming kicking in, or maybe he wanted to conduct his own evaluation of the the potentially dangerous mech that had been placed under his care, but Ratchet seemed rather acquiescent to the whole situation.

While Ironhide had for the most part acted civilly, Jazz could not help but worry about what would happen if the weapons specialist chose to turn on his Autobot captors. Primus, the mech's oversized cannons probably had enough firepower to level the entire med bay—and then some. They were not currently functional, but still...

Jazz just hoped that Optimus knew exactly how he was going to handle this Decepticon.


	4. Chapter 4

When Ironhide woke up the following orn, he was still tired but he could think much more clearly. Whatever it was the medic had been sedating him with must have finally worn off.

Ironhide had no way to know the time without his chronometer, but the direction and color of the natural light in the room told him it was late morning. He glanced around, as best he could while lying on his back at least, and noted that the med bay looked different somehow. He was hooked up to the same monitoring devices as before—he could see them above him—but the room itself just did not seem the same. He tensed against his restraints, which held just as firmly as they had earlier, before he scanned to the corners of the room.

The scan indicated that he was alone, and Ratchet was not there yet. Residual energy traces suggested that the medic had not been in the room recently.

The weapons specialist took the opportunity to study the room more closely, knowing now that it was definitely not the same one he was in before. This room was smaller, clearly designed to hold only one patient. Perhaps he was in some kind of isolation unit. The walls were slate gray and devoid of anything ornamental, but there was a window on the far wall. It was probably made of shatterproof glass.

The Autobots must have taken him there while he was in stasis. He found it vexing to think that they had done it and he had not even noticed. What else might they have—

Ironhide stiffened at the sound of the heavy door lock clicking open. He looked over to see Ratchet enter the room, the chartreuse medic using an access code to lock the door behind him.

Then the medic approached the berth, his optics focused on a handheld medical scanner as he wordlessly stopped beside Ironhide. The black mech stayed still while Ratchet scanned him and then checked the monitors. After a moment, the medic turned to Ironhide.

"I'm going to disconnect the drip," the medic said before removing the tape and gently grasping Ironhide's wrist, holding it steady. Then he added, slightly quieter, "This might sting a bit. Just try to relax."

Ironhide nodded his understanding, looking away as the medic slowly began to draw the large needle out, though he winced involuntarily as it neared the end.

"There." Ratchet set the needle aside with one hand, using the other to put some pressure on the leaking energon line. "So why 'Ironhide'?"

"What?" Ironhide's wrist still stung, and it did not help that the medic was bandaging it. Since Cybertronians were usually protected by their armor, they could be relatively sensitive underneath it.

"Your designation. Why did you choose it?"

Ironhide closed his optics, wincing again as the medic finished with the bandage. "It seemed fitting I guess."

Ratchet acknowledged noncommittally but did not say more, sensing that Ironhide was tired. He knew that the black mech did not like to recharge in the presence of others, and was probably fighting to stay online until he left.

Checking the monitors one more time, Ratchet updated the Decepticon's medical file and then turned toward him. The black mech had kept his optics closed, and seemed focused on his steady venting.

"You still with me, Ironhide?"

Ironhide drew in a larger vent of air before onlining his optics. "Yeah."

"Try to get some rest. I'll be back in a few joors." Ratchet turned to leave, and Ironhide glanced briefly in the medic's direction before shuttering his optics and falling into a much-needed recharge.

/* * */

It seemed to Ironhide that he had just begun recharging when the door to the room clicked open again, waking him up. Ratchet stepped in, this time followed by Ultra Magnus.

The Autobot commander moved to stand by the wall, well out of the medic's way but still nearby, while Ratchet silently walked to the berth. He scanned Ironhide and then checked the monitors, just like he had before.

Ironhide blinked. "What time is it?"

"Almost 17:00."

It was already that late? Scrap...

Ratchet moved in front of him before speaking again, his voice professional as always. "We need to get you up for a bit. It's hard on your systems to stay in the same position for too long."

As the medic began disconnecting the medical equipment and proceeded to undo the restraints, Ironhide glanced at Ultra Magnus, who was merely watching with his arms crossed over his chest plates. The blue mech was there as backup, no doubt.

The weapons specialist shifted his attention back to Ratchet as the chartreuse mech removed the last restraint and then urged him to sit up. Ironhide tentatively pushed himself up, allowing the medic to help him when it became too difficult. He finally managed to sit on the berth's edge.

Ratchet kept a hand on the Decepticon's back to steady him, though it was clear that he was also preparing to help him stand. "All right. You're going to find this uncomfortable, but it will only get worse the longer we wait. It would be best to do it now since your welds have had time to reach full strength."

Ironhide hesitated, his stiff frame already aching in protest, before he relented with a tired sigh. "Very well."

Ratchet positioned himself at Ironhide's right side, draping the black mech's arm over his shoulders and using his own sturdy frame to support the mech as he stood. "Easy. Keep most of the weight on your left leg."

The weapons specialist did as he was instructed, leaning with his free hand against the surface of the berth to help keep the weight off of the damaged joint in his ankle. Still, he grunted as the pressure on his hip became distinctly uncomfortable.

Ironhide managed to stay standing with the medic's assistance. Ratchet had no trouble steadying the black mech, who was only slightly taller than him, but after a few more moments it became clear that Ironhide could stand without his help.

Ratchet performed another scan, a bit surprised that Ironhide was already able to support the weight of his heavy frame by himself. "All right, that's good. Let's get you back down."

Ironhide said nothing as he carefully eased himself back onto the berth. Ratchet stayed nearby to assist him if needed, but the black mech was able to lie down on his own. He then waited as the medic restrained him to the berth again.

Ultra Magnus stepped forward, having received a comm message seconds before. "If you'll excuse me, Doctor, my presence has been requested elsewhere. Is there anything else you need from me?"

"No, Ultra Magnus. I can handle it from here." He glanced up at the blue mech. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course." Ultra Magnus closed the door as he left but he did not lock it, knowing that the medic would not be long behind him.

Ratchet turned back to his patient, putting one hand on the Decepticon's chest. He could feel his spark pulsing rapidly. The recent activity, though he had managed it well, had obviously put some strain on him. Ratchet made a mental note to watch for situations were Ironhide might overexert himself but not show it.

The medic also internally chastised himself for allowing a patient any opportunity to potentially injure himself. He should have known better than to let Ironhide stand on his own, even if the mech had seemed able to do it. Frag, what had he been thinking?

But Ironhide appeared unharmed, his optics tracking Ratchet's movements as the medic deftly reattached the monitoring devices and studied their readouts. Determining that the weapons specialist had exhausted himself but was otherwise unharmed, Ratchet brushed his concern aside and finished updating Ironhide's medical file.

/* * */

Later that orn, Jazz and Prowl sat at a table in the lounge, sipping on their respective cubes of energon and conversing about the things that had happened earlier in the orn, although in reality it was more of Jazz just talking and Prowl being content to listen. The silver minibot and the black and white enforcer were close friends, despite their polar opposite personalties.

Jazz looked up from his cube of energon when he sensed another friend entering the lounge. He waved at the chartreuse mech across the room.

Ratchet walked over to them, sitting down across from Jazz and next to Prowl. He set a cube of energon aside before leaning on the table and cradling his helm in his hands, sighing heavily.

Jazz glanced at the medic. "Long orn, huh?"

Not even lifting his helm, Ratchet mumbled a reply. "Story of my life."

"So what about the Decepticon?" Jazz asked, curious.

Ratchet looked up tiredly. "Ironhide?"

"Yeah. Magnus says he doesn't seem at all worried about bein' here."

"No, he doesn't. I'm not sure if we should be concerned about that or not."

"Did he have any tracking devices on him?"

"None, and his comm system was offline before we even arrived on the scene." The medic reached over and finally took a sip from his energon cube. "But it wouldn't take a space bridge scientist to figure out he's here. Our only well-equipped brig is at this base."

"Ain't that the truth." Jazz also took a sip of energon. "So why'd you leave his cannons on, anyway?"

"He seemed willing to cooperate, and I didn't want to jeopardize that. Leaving his weapons on, even if they are disabled, might give him at least some reason to trust us."

"Do you think he trusts us?"

Ratchet paused, thinking about it. "I don't know. I'm certain he doesn't fear us, but as far as anything else that's going on in his processor, I have no idea."

"Will he be interrogated?" Prowl asked absently, his optics focused on his own cube of energon as if he was trying to move it with his mind.

Jazz replied, "That's Prime's call. As far as I know, we're gonna see how the 'Con behaves after he's released from medical, then maybe do some preliminary evaluations to try and figure out how much of a threat he really is, and take it from there. How long do you think he'll need to stay in the med bay, Ratch?"

"Probably a few more orns. He's recovering quite quickly, especially considering that most mechs wouldn't have even survived such a blast."

The silver minibot leaned back, crossing his arms. "Yeah, that's pretty impressive. His designation suits him."

"Indeed it does." Ratchet finished his energon, and after studying the empty cube for a moment, he moved to get up. "Well, I'm heading back to my quarters. Comm me if there's an emergency."

Jazz nodded. "Will do. G'night, Ratch."

Ratchet stood, picking up the empty energon cube. "Good night, Jazz, Prowl."

Prowl waved good night. "Take it easy, Ratchet."

/* * */

Ironhide lay awake, staring up at the dark ceiling of the little medical room. One of the Autobots had put some kind of thermal blanket over him, and while he was grateful for it, it also reminded him that someone had been there without his knowledge.

He was annoyed that he had no problem staying online now. Why could he not recharge now, when no one else would be around anytime soon? Oh, right... That would be far too convenient.

There was a thunderstorm off in the distance, and Ironhide looked across the room as the dim flashes of lightning strikes filtered through the window. He wondered what it would be like to be outside right about then. How severe was the weather, way out there? It would be interesting to see.

But he could not go anywhere. He puzzled over what the Autobots intended to do with him, since they had said nothing at all about it.

They did not seem inclined to hurt him—quite the opposite, actually—but they did not appear to want anything from him either. They had not demanded that he share any Decepticon secrets, even though they doubtlessly knew that he would have many of them. In fact, they had asked for nothing other than his designation, function, and rank, all of which they could have found out on their own if they had so desired. They had not even asked what he was doing in the Badlands.

Not that Ironhide would have given them any sensitive information then, nor did he intend to do it now. It would take more than a facade of niceness to break him. The Autobots were too soft, and Ironhide was confident that he could handle anything that they might attempt to force his cooperation.

The weapons specialist glanced back at the ceiling. He disliked being restrained to the berth, but then again he deserved as much for getting captured. Maybe he could have avoided that situation somehow, or maybe he could not have. It did not really matter now.

What did matter was what Ironhide would do from that point. He knew that he could not get out of his restraints, and it would be a waste of precious energy to even try, so he settled for scanning the room again. This time, he was evaluating its structural integrity.

A thorough analysis showed that the room was heavily reinforced, and it was not likely that he could escape even if he managed to get free inside. Frag... Scrap that idea.

Well then, he would just wait and see what his Autobot captors had planned for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Ironhide stared up at the ceiling, squinting a bit as he focused on all the little details of the tiles. He could not be sure how many orns had passed, but he had recovered sufficiently enough for the Autobots to allow him to move about in his room—with supervision, of course. He would have to wait until Ratchet let him up, and if there was not a second Autobot around to protect the medic, Ironhide did not get to get up at all. He had to stay restrained to the berth, like he was now—waiting for Ratchet to make his morning rounds.

Ironhide had gotten quite good at predicting when the chartreuse mech would arrive, and he knew that it should be any time. There would also usually be someone with Ratchet in the mornings, since most mechs had fewer obligations that early in the orn. During the later joors, there would almost certainly be some incident to respond to, and in that case, everyone would be busy.

Not that the weapons specialist was particularly concerned with what the Autobots were doing, but he did prefer it when someone was available to help Ratchet. Ironhide wanted a little time to walk around. Even if it was not much, he looked forward to it. His frame felt stiff, and he tried shifting to a more comfortable position before looking out the window.

He could only see sky, but at least it was something to look at. Something more interesting than the ceiling.

Once he was off the berth, he would be able to see Iacon's skyline. That would be even better—interesting shapes, things moving, basically anything that he was not able to see while lying flat on his back in a static room.

At the sound of the door being opened, Ironhide turned to see Ratchet entering, followed once again by Ultra Magnus. The blue commander moved toward the wall, while the medic came up to the berth and began checking the monitors.

That was usually how things went, and it was exactly what Ironhide had expected. What he did not expect was that Ratchet did not unstrap him once he finished reading the monitors. Instead, the medic reached into one of the drawers of a cabinet stocked with medical equipment, and pulled out a syringe filled with some kind of clear liquid.

The weapons specialist was immediately anxious, though he was careful not to show it. "What's that?"

"Just a sedative," Ratchet explained as he partially turned away from the cabinet. "I'm going to put you under."

Ironhide eyed the medic warily and with mild confusion. His internal diagnostics gave no indication of any major problems. Certainly nothing that would require him to be sedated. "What for?"

"So we can transfer you to the brig." Ratchet turned to face him, clearly catching his anxiety.

The weapons specialist seemed to be more distressed by the sedative than the brig. Ratchet suspected that it had something to do with Ironhide not trusting Autobots.

The medic tried to reassure him. "Don't worry, the dose isn't very high. You'll be awake in less than a joor."

Ironhide still seemed to dislike the idea. "It's not necessary," he responded. "I'll go without a fight."

Ratchet glanced at Ultra Magnus, who then stepped forward to address the Decepticon.

"Just so we're clear," the Autobot commander said as he crossed his arms, "you're saying that you will willingly allow us to escort you to the brig, without any resistance?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

Ultra Magnus paused, obviously considering the offer, though he kept his gaze fixed on the mech in front of him.

After a long pause, the blue mech spoke again. "Very well, Commander Ironhide, but be advised that _any_ action to the contrary will be grounds for reprisal."

Ironhide had already assumed as much. "I understand."

Ultra Magnus nodded silently, then turned to face Ratchet. "Doctor, is he able to walk?"

"That far? I would advise against it. However, he should be able to move in his alternate mode without trouble."

"Understood. I will clear the necessary areas." Ultra Magnus stepped toward the door. "Meet me in front of cell D4."

Ratchet acknowledged the order and then Ultra Magnus left, closing the door behind him. Ironhide watched as the medic put the syringe away and turned back to the berth.

"All right," Ratchet began as he unfastened the restraints, "I'm obligated to notify you that I will be carrying a stun gun, and you will be expected to stay in front of me at all times unless I say otherwise. Is that clear?"

The weapons specialist nodded. "Yeah, I've got it."

"Good." Ratchet disconnected the monitoring devices, then helped his patient get up off the berth. Once Ironhide was standing, Ratchet continued. "Follow me."

Ironhide was a bit surprised that the medic would turn his back to him right away, but it was probably so he could key-in the door's security code. The black Decepticon walked behind him as instructed, but did not even try to get a glimpse of the code. The Autobots would probably change it anyway.

Ratchet opened the door and motioned for Ironhide to go through. The weapons specialist stepped into the hallway, stopping just outside of the room while the medic closed the door behind them. Sure enough, the chartreuse mech activated a setting on the lock that would randomize the code. Autobots were so predictable.

"Now, transform and head to the right."

Ironhide did as he was told, keeping his pace slow as the medic walked behind him. They went through several empty corridors, Ratchet telling him either where to go or when to change direction. Eventually, they reached a freight elevator. Ironhide stopped in front of it.

The medic walked up next to him, opening the elevator door and instructing him to drive in. Ironhide rolled forward, the length of his vehicle mode being just less than that of the elevator. Ratchet stepped in, and stood next to Ironhide as the door closed automatically.

As the elevator descended, Ratchet thought about saying something to black Decepticon. But he hesitated, not sure exactly what it was he wanted to say. Ironhide did not speak either, just quietly idled his engine as the medic stood beside him.

Ratchet was internally relieved that the Decepticon was cooperating. In fact, the only reason he and Ultra Magnus had agreed to Ironhide's proposal was to test whether or not the black mech would be true to his word. So far, he had been. Optimus would be interested in hearing about that—he seemed to think that Ironhide had the capacity to do what was right.

Ratchet was not really sure if Ironhide's behavior was genuine or not. There had obviously been an element of risk involved in conducting a test like this, but Ratchet had not doubted that it was the right time for it. And in a strange way, he had not felt like he was in any real danger being alone with the mech. Something about Ironhide made him feel... safe. Like nothing would happen to him. It was quite unusual, really.

_Ironhide is a Decepticon_ , Ratchet forcibly reminded himself. _He probably knows how to put up that kind of facade._

The elevator came to a stop, and the door opened. Just beyond was a dimly-lit hallway of the brig. Ratchet directed Ironhide toward Ultra Magnus, who was waiting for him.

/* * */

Ironhide looked out from the elevator to where Ultra Magnus stood. It was clearly the brig, not that that was any surprise. The weapons specialist had agreed to go there, after all.

_The Autobots' only secure brig_ , his data files informed him. He would have to handle the situation carefully, especially since he was still totally disarmed.

Ironhide was no fool—he knew that all possible exits would be blocked or guarded. He also knew that he was in no position to make a break for it, not with Ultra Magnus and Ratchet there. If he wanted the highest possible chance of succeeding, he would need to wait for just the right moment. This was not it.

"Let's go." The medic signaled him to move ahead. Ironhide complied immediately, pulling out of the elevator as Ratchet walked behind him and Ultra Magnus opened the large, barred door of a holding cell at the end of the hallway.

Ultra Magnus held the door open as Ironhide drove in without instruction, opting to stay in his alt mode rather than transforming and walking in. However, once Ultra Magnus closed the cell door and turned to speak to him through the bars, Ironhide transformed.

"Your cooperation is appreciated, Ironhide," the blue mech said. "I want you to know that we will not soon forget it."

Ironhide did not say anything in response, only kept his gaze on Ultra Magnus in case the blue mech had not yet finished speaking.

But apparently he had, because he turned around and headed back toward the elevator. Ironhide glanced at Ratchet, who watched him for a few seconds longer before he too turned and left.

Ironhide stood for a moment, contemplating what he was going do, before transforming back into his alt mode to get some rest.

/* * */

Another orn passed. Much to Ironhide's chagrin, he still needed to recharge frequently. Frag, he had not recharged this much since he was a youngling.

At least the cell was large enough to accommodate his alt mode. He liked to have some privacy while he recharged—the thought of someone watching him was unnerving.

He was online now, but he had not bothered transforming into his primary mode. It was not like he had anything to do that required it.

The weapons specialist had already scanned the interior of the cell, looking for any weak spots. Unfortunately he had not found any. This brig was indeed well-built. It even had some attribute that prevented him from scanning too far beyond the walls of his cell. But at the very least, he could acquire some data about the layout of the brig in this particular section. Perhaps the other areas were designed similarly. And even if they were not, any bit of data was better than none.

He observed and cataloged anything he could, on the off chance that some of the information he was gathering might prove useful. At this point, the only thing Ironhide could do was acquire data. Everything else still depended on the Autobots.

For now, anyway.

/* * */

Jazz casually made his way down to the brig, heading toward the holding cell that currently housed the Autobots' only captive—Ironhide. Jazz was curious to talk to the mech one-on-one, since he was not usually on speaking terms with any Decepticons. It would be interesting.

He walked down the empty hallway, looking for cell Delta-4. That was were Ultra Magnus had told him the Decepticon would be. Sure enough, Jazz found him there.

Ironhide was in his alt mode, parked in the middle of the cell and facing the side of it. He did not seem to notice Jazz's arrival.

The silver minibot waited a moment, then stepped closer to the bars. "Hey there, 'Hide."

Ironhide still did not move and Jazz briefly wondered if the mech was even awake, but after a few seconds the vehicle shifted and began to transform. The dark metal plates rearranged themselves in a just slightly delayed sequence before revealing the equally dark primary mode of the Decepticon weapons specialist.

"Jazz," Ironhide acknowledged simply.

The silver minibot leaned nonchalantly against the bars, trying not to appear threatening in any way. "So you already know my designation, huh?"

"Yes. I also know that you are the Autobots' head of intelligence."

"That's right."

"So are you here to interrogate me?" The Decepticon's tone was inflectionless, but his posture seemed to say, _I'd like to see you try._

"Nah," Jazz replied as he waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing like that. I just thought we'd chat for a bit."

Ironhide cocked his head ever so slightly. "About what?"

Jazz shifted his weight, clasping his hands together through the bars. "Well, I was just wondering how you got yourself into this... let's say _situation_ , in the first place."

What kind of superfluous topic was that? "I'm certain that you are already aware of what happened."

"Of course I already know what happened, I'm just curious about how it happened." At Ironhide's blank gaze, Jazz continued. "I mean, you're a real high-ranking mech to make that kind of mistake. Didn't you know where you were going?"

The Decepticon narrowed his optics suspiciously. "I knew exactly where I was going."

"Then how'd you run over a landmine?"

"The use of landmines in neutral zones is explicitly forbidden. I had no reason to divert sensory power for their detection."

"Well, that was your mistake. You should have checked anyway."

What? That was most certainly _not_ his fault. "The air commander is in charge of perimeter control. Placing a landmine in a neutral zone was his mistake."

"His mistake?" Jazz huffed derisively. "Maybe you didn't notice, but it was hardly the only one out there."

Ironhide was getting annoyed. "What's your point?"

"Starscream did it intentionally. It was Megatron's order."

The weapons specialist backed up after hearing that. "You're lying."

"No, I'm not—"

"Why should I believe you?" he spat.

Jazz met Ironhide's heated glare boldly. "Because I have recordings to prove it."

The Decepticon hesitated, but he seemed to calm down.

"I don't believe that."

Jazz took a step back, away from the bars as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Would you like to listen for yourself?"

Ironhide hesitated again, almost as if he was not sure he wanted to know the answer. Jazz silently waited for the black mech to come to a decision.

Just as Ironhide was about to speak, something on the far wall exploded. Jazz ducked, covering his face as a few pieces of concrete struck his armor and dust filled the air.


	6. Chapter 6

Jazz was not sure what had happened, but he stayed down until a good amount of the dust settled. Then, when everything was quiet, he slowly stood up, letting the rocks tumble off his dust-covered frame as he turned to check on Ironhide. The mech should be fine, since he was farther from the source of the explosion than Jazz was, but the Autobot wanted to make sure.

Ironhide had shielded himself as well, and although the black mech had sustained a few light scratches on his armor, he appeared to be otherwise unharmed. He also seemed to be just as clueless as Jazz was.

"You all right?" The silver minibot asked him.

"I'm fine," the Decepticon replied curtly as he brushed himself off. Then, more politely, "What was that?"

"I don't know." Jazz looked back, across the hallway. There was still a lot of dust in the air but he could see a large, jagged crack running down the entire length of the far wall, and the floor was littered with chunks of concrete that had apparently been blown away by the explosion.

Jazz stepped a little closer, trying to get some idea of what had happened, while Ironhide watched anxiously from behind the bars.

The silver minibot noted that all of the debris had been blown toward them, meaning that whatever had caused the damage must have been on the other side of the wall. That was where the explosion had actually originated.

Jazz scanned the wall. Normally, his sensors would not be able to see what was on the other side of it since it was specifically designed to block any kind of interference, but now that the internal structure was compromised, he was indeed able to scan it. And he detected the metallic remnants of a plasma grenade.

"Frag!" Jazz bolted away, fearing an explosion from another grenade, but nothing happened. He quickly regained his composure and turned back to the cell, where Ironhide was peering at him with mild confusion evident on his faceplates.

"What was that about?" the weapons specialist asked.

"Just... Stay here. I'll be back." Jazz turned and left without glancing back or even waiting for a reply. He needed to contact Optimus, tell him that they had a security breach, and it would be best if the Decepticon did not hear any of it. Keeping things on a need-to-know basis was almost always a good idea when dealing with Decepticon prisoners, especially when the situation was not clear yet.

Ironhide would probably need to be moved to the part of the brig that had even higher security. If someone had planted an explosive device, then they had obviously infiltrated the base. The only mechs who would do that were the Decepticons.

He could not let the Decepticons get Ironhide. Not while the Autobots had a chance to save him from that life, to show him how they were different.

It was what they stood for. What they would always stand for.

Although Jazz had never been sure, not from the start, if there could be any hope for the black mech to leave the Decepticons, but Optimus believed it was possible and that was good enough for Jazz. Finally reaching a distant hallway, he contacted his leader.

"Optimus, are you there?"

It took a moment for the Prime to answer. _"I'm here, Jazz."_

"We've got a 'Con infiltration. Get everyone on high alert."

_"Understood. Where are you now?"_

"In the brig. I didn't see any of them, but there was a grenade in one of the hallways. I think they're looking for their weapons specialist."

_"Is Ironhide secure?"_

The silver mech glanced behind himself out of habit, though he could not see anything other than the empty hallway. "For now, but I'd highly recommend calling someone down here to move him." Jazz could not handle the larger mech alone. Not safely, anyway. It would take someone like Ultra Magnus or Bulkhead to do that.

_"Do it. Ultra Magnus and I will begin the search for the Decepticons."_

/* * */

Finally, peace and quiet...

Ratchet was tired. It had been yet another long shift, and he was thankful that most mechs were not around at night. He walked through the abandoned hallways and common areas of the base, heading toward the equally abandoned med bay. Since there were no patients there at the moment, it would be the perfect time for him to finish compiling those incomplete medical reports from earlier in the orn. The blasted things seemed to multiply faster than cyberbunnies.

Only a few breems passed before Ratchet found himself in front of the med bay's heavy door. He keyed in the code to open it, then headed across the large, dimly-lit room to the office located on the far side of the med bay. He unlocked that door as well but just as he stepped through the entrance, an alarm started going off.

"You've got to be fraggin' kidding me!" Lockdown? At this time of night? If those Pit-spawned twins had decided to play that prank again, Ratchet would take it upon himself to show them just how funny it was...

But it did not matter right then. He had to follow protocol until he received an all-clear. After shutting and locking the office's door, he started walking back the way he came.

Why did he even bother trying to get any work done? There was clearly no point. Something or someone _always_ had to interrupt him. It was as if not _one_ orn could go by without it.

Well, maybe it was not that bad... But still, he hated interruptions.

Ratchet was about halfway across the med bay when he caught a glimpse of a mech out of the corner of his optic, but he did not think much of it. It was probably just one of the junior medics.

When he noticed that the mech did not seem to be getting ready to leave, Ratchet called out, "Whoever you are, we're under lockdown. You need to exit the med bay."

"Do I, now?"

The medic froze when he heard that voice. He knew it did not belong to one of his comrades—it belonged to Starscream.

The sound of a weapon powering up only confirmed it. Ratchet knew he was in trouble and he lifted his hands placatingly, but he did not turn around to face the mech who was now undoubtedly standing behind him.

He heard Starscream step closer. "Attempt to contact anyone, and it will be the last move you ever make."

Ratchet cursed to himself. Why had he not been more careful? He _knew_ there could have been a security threat! And now, it looked like he would pay the price for his lapse in judgment. He remained silent as the Decepticon walked in front of him.

"So, what do we have here? A medic?"

The air commander began circling him, but Ratchet still did not move. He tried to keep his voice calm as he answered. "Yes, I'm a medic. That means I'm no threat to you."

"Perhaps not, Medic." Starscream stopped, facing the chartreuse Autobot. "However, that doesn't mean I will just let you go."

Ratchet somehow managed to hide his rising panic. He knew that the silver mech would only use it against him. _As if anything might make a difference right now_ , Ratchet lamented silently. No matter what he did, he would be lucky if he made it out of this in one piece.

Starscream continued, acting almost nonchalant as he subtly threatened the unarmed mech who stood before him. "But perhaps we can barter. I could use your help with something..."

The only thing worse than jeopardizing his own life would be risking that of others, the medic decided. Whatever Starscream wanted would not be in the best interests of the Autobots, and Ratchet would not betray his own team. Not if he had any choice. "There's nothing I can do to help you."

"No? Well, let's see about that!"

Starscream lunged at him, and Ratchet tried to dodge the attack but the Decepticon was too quick. He grabbed Ratchet by the arms and threw him to the ground.

/* * */

_Stay here? Where in the Pit else would I go?_

Ironhide idled in vehicle mode, trying to burn off some anxiety. The klaxons had stopped sounding a little while ago, but red lights were still flashing in the hallway. Something serious had obviously happened, and Jazz had told him nothing. The silver mech had left without so much as a backwards glance.

Ironhide did not care whether or not the Autobot had any concern for him, but if anything nearby was a potential threat, he would really like to know about it. The weapons specialist did not like guessing—he liked facts. Facts meant he could be prepared.

Even if there was only so much preparation he could do while unarmed and locked in a cell, knowing was still better than not knowing. At least he could be mentally prepared. Sometimes, that was the most important part.

Being able to shoot did not do any good if one could not steady himself.

The veteran soldier was finding it harder than usual to get his emotions under control. Scrap, he was out of practice. He had been off the battlefield for too long.

It had not even been that long! Frag it all...

Ironhide transformed, giving up on trying to calm down in alt mode and deciding instead to pace his cell. Maybe that would help.

Not long after he began pacing, he heard a door in the hallway creak open and then slam shut. He also heard the footsteps of a single mech echoing down the hall. Perhaps Jazz was back? No one else had been to the brig since Ironhide was there except Ratchet and Ultra Magnus.

The mech came into view a few moments later. Ironhide could see that it was not Jazz, but Bulkhead.

Where was Jazz?

Bulkhead stopped in front of the door of the cell, ordering the Decepticon to step back before he unlatched it.

The green mech seemed agitated about something, and Ironhide eyed him warily. "What's going on?"

"That's none of your concern."

Bulkhead's sharp tone of voice only made Ironhide tense further.

But the green Wrecker did not see that, his focus instead on the pair of stasis cuffs that he had brought with him.

_Ratchet had not used cuffs_ , Ironhide thought.

"All right." Bulkhead turned his attention to the black Decepticon. "Come forward, and hold your hands out in front of you."

"Why are you doing this?" Ironhide asked even as he complied with the order. He wanted to know what was going on.

"I don't have to explain anything to you, 'Con." Bulkhead apparently took the inquiry as a sign of defiance because he grabbed Ironhide's wrist, inadvertently putting pressure on the still-tender spot where the needle had been.

That was a mistake. Before the green mech had time to react, Ironhide twisted out of his grip and forced the mech against the wall.

Bulkhead yelled at him, "Let me go, Ironhide!"

Ironhide said nothing as he and Bulkhead each struggled to subdue the other. Bulkhead managed to push himself away from the wall despite the additional weight of the Decepticon pressing against him, but Ironhide used it as an opportunity to change positions with the mech, so he was closer to the door and Bulkhead was farther from it.

"I said let me go!" Bulkhead could see what was happening, and he tried to wrestle his arms free before it was too late.

But Ironhide held him fast. After a short scuffle, he threw Bulkhead to the floor and then quickly darted out of the cell, latching the door behind him.

Then he transformed and drove off. He could hear Bulkhead radioing for backup, but he did not stop or slow down. It was too late for that—they would be hunting him now.


	7. Chapter 7

_What had he done?_

Ironhide drove steadily through the labyrinthine corridors of the brig, praying to Primus that he would not run into anyone. That scuffle with the Autobot had left Ironhide with a torn energon line in his arm.

What the frag had he been thinking? When Bulkhead grabbed him, yes it hurt, but he could have taken it. He _should_ have—the green mech had probably not intended to cause any pain, and in all likelihood did not even realize that he did. But Ironhide had lost it, and attacked him anyway.

Now what was he supposed to do? Try to escape?

The weapons specialist had figuratively backed himself into a corner—it would have been so much easier if he had gained their trust first. Then he could have just slipped away at the first available opportunity, and no one would have gotten hurt. He had not meant for that to happen.

Hopefully the green mech was all right. Ironhide was honestly not sure how rough he had been with him.

But the Decepticon commander did know that his actions had not been justified. He had not needed to take it that far, to use excessive force without good cause, and the Autobots would doubtlessly feel the same way. They were probably looking for him right at that very moment.

He needed to find a way out.

But how? The only thing he could think to do was try some of the Autobot security codes from Soundwave. One of them might work.

Ironhide banked left, taking a route to the exit that was less direct. The Autobots would likely search the main areas of the building first, and then fan out from there. He may be able to buy some time by not being where they expected him to be.

The weapons specialist had schematics of each floor, so he should have no trouble doing that much. The only other thing that might work to his advantage was that it was the middle of the night. There would not be as many mechs around.

Other than that, he was at a total disadvantage.

But it would not be the first time. Ironhide was used to ending up in tricky situations, and he always managed to make it through. This one would not be any different. He just had to avoid making another stupid mistake.

Ironhide stopped at the end of the hallway, checking his navigation. The adjacent hall went up at an incline, so if there was any logic to Autobot architecture, it should lead to a loading area or hangar. Ironhide wanted to make sure it did before he moved ahead.

According to his maps, that was indeed the case. It should go to a hangar where they kept ships.

He rolled forward, going from the well-lit main hallway to a more dimly-lit smaller one. It still looked basically the same, with silvery walls and lights spaced at regular intervals down the sides. It also had a low ceiling, which made the weapons specialist feel slightly constricted despite the fact that there was enough space for him. He would just not have much room to maneuver if something happened there.

Ironhide drove slowly, turning his lights on when it started getting too dark around the corner. He could have used infrared, but that would have taken more energy. Headlights would be fine. If there were no hallway lights on, then there were probably not any mechs either. No one would see him.

And no one did. He made it to the end of the hallway without a hitch.

Now, the hard part—trying to get through the reinforced door.

The black mech transformed, standing so he could better see the lock mechanism. He took a step toward the door, and almost stumbled into it.

Frag, he must have re-injured his ankle too.

Ironhide leaned with his hands against the door to steady himself, waiting for the initial wave of pain to pass, and then he straightened. The longer he waited, the more likely it was that someone would find him.

He quickly looked up the security codes he had on file. Only one was listed as still valid. 52-38-47.

Keeping one hand on the door frame for support, he entered the code. The door beeped, and then slid open. Good.

Ironhide stepped through, and it closed automatically behind him. He looked out across the dark open space, adjusting his lights so he could see what was there. Yes, it was the hangar.

Transforming again, the weapons specialist took off around the ships, heading for the bay doors. There would likely be a smaller access door near them too. If he could find that, he would not need to look for the controls for the bay doors.

As he drove through the hangar, he made a mental note of what the Autobots kept there. They had three larger ships, and one smaller one that looked like the little search and rescue ship they had taken him in. Maybe it was the same one, or maybe just the same type. There were some empty spaces that could accommodate a few other ships too, so it was hard to say. Not that it really mattered.

Ironhide had almost made it across the hangar when he heard a door opening. He quickly turned his lights off, and darted behind one of the larger ships. Then he silently waited, hoping that the mech had not seen him.

Actually, it was more than one mech—Ironhide could just make out their indistinct voices. There were two, and neither one sounded familiar. He must not have ever met them.

They began shining lights on the floor, but the black mech still did not move. Nor was he going to until he was absolutely certain that they had seen him. And right now, it seemed that they had not.

He had not heard them power up their weapons, and if they were trying to be stealthy, they would not be talking. Perhaps they were not trying to find him, but were there for another reason. It was a possibility.

Very slowly, so as not to make any noise, Ironhide transformed into his primary mode. Then he carefully moved to the edge of the ship, and peeked around the hull.

The two mechs were facing away from him. One was green while the other was some sort of orange color, and both were relatively small. When it looked like they might turn toward him, Ironhide hid back behind the ship.

They were not a threat. He would simply wait for them to leave.

It did not take long until they did, and the weapons specialist relaxed when he heard the door shut behind them. He waited a few more breems, mainly so he could rest, before transforming back into vehicle mode and continuing to the far side of the hangar.

Once he was there, he found the access door. It was right next to one of the larger bay doors.

All right, now how did it open?

Ironhide drove up to it, looking for some kind of control system. He located it quickly—on the wall to the left. The switch to open the door was low enough that he could probably activate it in vehicle mode. That way, he would not need to transform again. It was aggravating some of his injuries.

Ironhide backed up and turned toward the switch, lightly tapping it with his front bumper. It clicked easily, and he headed back around as the door opened. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he bolted outside and sped off.

/* * */

"He attacked you?"

"Yeah," Bulkhead replied as the junior medic, First Aid, checked him for any injuries. "But... it might have been my fault. I kind of grabbed his arm, and I think it may have hurt him."

First Aid gave the larger mech a sideways glance. "You probably shouldn't have done that."

"I know." Bulkhead looked up when he heard Jazz approaching. The silver minibot had been helping with the search efforts, and Bulkhead was curious to know if they had found anything. "Have you finished checking the building yet?"

"Almost." Jazz stopped beside his companions. "But so far, no sign of 'Cons or Ironhide."

"What about the hangar?"

"Skids and Mudflap were just there, and they said they didn't see him."

"They weren't looking for him either," the green Wrecker pointed out.

"No, they weren't, but I asked them to check it again and they did. He's not there."

"Then where do you think he is?"

"Honestly?" Jazz asked, receiving a nod in reply. "Gone, I'm sure."

Bulkhead put a large hand over his face. "Great..."

"Prowl's out lookin' for him." The silver mech tried to be reassuring.

It seemed to help, at least a little. "Well, that's good."

"But there's something else," Jazz continued, looking uncharacteristically worried. "No one's been able to get ahold of Ratchet."

/* * */

Ironhide navigated the quiet streets of Iacon, his black paint glinting under the myriad of city lights. Iacon was a large city and although the weapons specialist would have rather made better time getting through it, he moderated his speed to avoid drawing attention to himself.

Not that many others were around to see him. The streets were predominantly empty, and the few mechs who did pass by did not pay any attention to him.

That suited Ironhide just fine. He did not want another incident like the one earlier.

The weapons specialist turned right, opting to take the most direct route out of the city. The less time he had to spend in the center of Autobot territory, the better.

But he was getting tired. He was not sure if it was because he had not engaged in any strenuous activity for some time, or if it was due to his injuries. Maybe it was some combination of the two.

Ironhide started looking for a place where he could rest, preferably one that was completely out of sight. Perhaps an alley, or somewhere else that was surrounded by buildings. Or he could try to find an industrial park. There would be a lot of places to hide there.

However, his maps indicated that there was not one nearby. He would have to settle for an alley instead.

At least he would not need to go far off his route. A handful of alleys were quite close to him, and this area had fewer streetlights, so it was dark. Even better.

The black mech headed down a side street, searching for the best possible place to conceal himself. Maybe over on the next block, between the few small outbuildings at the end of the street. It was deserted, and off the main road. He should be safe there.

But just as Ironhide rounded the corner, he caught a glimpse of Prowl's black and white vehicle mode. The Praxian enforcer was heading down the opposite block, and did not seem to have noticed him.

Ironhide stopped quietly and backed up, turning into a nearby alley, while Prowl disappeared behind a building.

After waiting a few more breems to make sure Prowl was gone, Ironhide pulled out onto the street again. If he could just avoid the enforcer long enough, he might be able to reach the city limits before—

"Ironhide, halt!"

Scrap... So much for that idea. Ironhide obediently rolled to a stop, waiting for Prowl to pull up behind him.

"What do you want, Prowl?" It was an inane question and he knew it. What Prowl wanted was obvious.

"I want you to come with me, _peacefully._ "

Ironhide transformed, turning to address Prowl with a hint of challenge. "And if I don't?"

The Praxian likewise transformed, then quickly drew his weapon and fired.

The point-blank shot hit Ironhide squarely in the chest, splattering him with conductive gel. The gluey material scrambled his internal signals before he even had time to process what was happening.

Prowl watched as the Decepticon stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. The mech was visibly dazed, but not completely down. His unusually thick armor must be protecting him to a certain extent. Prowl made a mental note of that.

Then the enforcer stepped closer, getting his stasis cuffs out. Ironhide was still on the ground, but he was trying to get up.

"Stop resisting, Ironhide," Prowl warned him.

But Ironhide did not stop, and he pulled his hand away when Prowl moved to apply the stasis cuffs.

Prowl spoke more sternly now. "Ironhide—"

Suddenly, the Decepticon knocked Prowl to the ground, pinning him on his back.

The stun blast had not been strong enough, Prowl realized with a start. He struggled to reach his weapon, intending to take another shot, but Ironhide kept holding him down. The black mech had the upper hand, and he relieved the Praxian of his weapon before turning it against him and firing.

Prowl's smaller frame seized, the shot affecting him more so than it had Ironhide. Then he went limp, slipping into a state of temporary unconsciousness.

Ironhide laid him down gently, and set the weapon aside. Then he transformed into alt mode and drove away, toward the outskirts of Iacon.


	8. Chapter 8

_"—wler, can you hear me?"_

Prowl woke up feeling groggy, and his helm was pounding, but he managed to catch the latter part of that comm—not that he was cognizant enough to respond to it yet. However, he did vaguely realize that he was lying on the ground.

What? Where was he?

His systems were still coming back online, and he tried to recall what he had been doing before going into stasis. The last thing he remembered was... Oh, frag!

_Ironhide_.

Prowl immediately tried to get up, to make sure the Decepticon was not near him, but the movement only made him dizzy. He hesitantly lay back down, and decided to instead scan for the black mech.

There was no sign of him.

As Prowl thought about it, that made sense. Ironhide would likely not have stayed close.

What Prowl did not understand was how this scenario had even happened, or rather, why he unwittingly gave the black mech an opportunity to stun him with his own weapon. He had seen that Ironhide was not totally incapacitated, but he had approached him anyway. That was foolish to say the least, so _why_ had he done it?

The Praxian enforcer silently berated himself. He knew better.

But what was done was done, and Prowl just felt fortunate that Ironhide had not had access to any lethal weapons at the time. It would be an understatement to say a situation like that would have been much worse.

A few shocked systems was hardly anything to complain about, though it was still uncomfortable for Prowl. He ran some calculations to estimate how much time it would take until the feeling passed. He knew it should not be long, but if he wanted to continue his pursuit of the Decepticon, he would need to wait for the effects to wear off.

At least Ironhide may have also been delayed, since the stun blast would be having an effect on him too.

_"Prowl, answer me!"_

The Praxian shifted upon receiving another comm. Was that... Jazz?

_"Hello!"_

Yes, it was Jazz. He was probably concerned that Prowl had been out of radio contact for so long, since it was not like the enforcer to do that.

Prowl rolled onto his side, taking a moment to clear his processor. He cradled his helm before responding.

"There is no need to yell, Jazz. I can hear you just fine."

_"Prowler!"_ The silver minibot sounded relieved. _"You're there!"_

No matter how close of a friend as Jazz was, the mech's superfluous statements never ceased to baffle Prowl. "Of course. Where else would I be?"

_"Well, I had a hard time reaching you. I thought maybe something happened."_

"I had some trouble with the Decepticon," Prowl admitted. "In short, he bested me."

Jazz paused. _"Are you okay?"_

"Yes, I'm fine." Or at the very least, he would be shortly.

_"Good! I'm glad! But listen, we have a situation..."_

"With Ironhide. I already know." Prowl just mentioned it, did he not?

_"No, it's more important than that,"_ Jazz corrected. _"Optimus is getting a rescue team together."_

A rescue team? Prowl wondered what could have happened to necessitate that, but he could find out once he got back to base. "All right. I'm on my way."

_"No, just stay there. I'm gonna send Jolt to your location, and he'll escort you back."_

"What for?"

_"Just trust me, Prowler. It's for your own good."_

Prowl sighed. "Very well."

_"All right. See ya soon."_

"See you, Jazz." Prowl closed the comm link, getting ready to wait until Jolt arrived. Sometimes, he did not understand why others showed such concern for him. Why send a medic, when he said he was fine?

But it did not really matter, so Prowl was not going to argue about it.

Instead, he gingerly pushed himself up to a sitting position, glancing toward the ground as he ran a diagnostic scan. It felt like most of his systems were back online and functioning normally, but he wanted to make sure.

When the scan finished, reporting no anomalies, Prowl lifted his optics and took a moment to look around. It was still very dark, which meant he had not been unconscious for too long.

Nonetheless, Ironhide may have had enough time to make it out of Iacon, especially if he had not tried to continue moderating his speed. And why would he, if the roads were empty and he believed the Autobots were looking for him?

No, if the black mech could help it, he would probably not stop again until he was far from the city.

Prowl spent a few breems thinking about how he could handle the situation differently next time, to prevent such an occurrence from happening in the future. But then Jolt's blue vehicle mode came into view, and he realized that it would have to be a concern for another time.

Prowl noted how quickly the medic had arrived, surmising that he must have been somewhere in the area. He moved to stand up as the blue mech transformed and walked over to him, but Jolt motioned for him not to.

"Good evening, Prowl."

"Good evening." The Praxian lowered himself back to a sitting position, keeping his hands on the ground for support.

Jolt knelt down in front of him, and smiled slightly. "Jazz asked me to come and take a look at you. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I tracked Ironhide here, he stopped, and I attempted to detain him. Then the situation got out of hand," Prowl explained. "He seized my weapon and used it against me."

"Which weapon was it?"

"The Investigator Special."

Jolt nodded. "And what setting did you have it on?"

It took Prowl a few seconds to remember. "Mid-range."

"Do you think he changed the setting?"

"No, I don't think he did."

"Maybe he didn't know how," the medic speculated idly.

Prowl almost smiled at that. "Do you know much about Ironhide, Jolt?"

"Nothing," Jolt replied. "Only his designation."

"Well then, let me just say I'm fairly certain he would know how to set it."

"All right. I'd like to make sure he didn't." Jolt pulled a medical scanner out of subspace, and held it up to the Praxian. "Hold still while I scan you."

"That's not necessary. I already—"

"Hold still," the blue medic cut him off kindly, but firmly.

Prowl obeyed, stilling his movements until Jolt completed the scan.

"No indications of serious damage," Jolt said as he put his scanner away, "but I will say you were lucky that the setting wasn't any higher. What would have only stunned him might have injured you."

The Praxian responded with a subdued, "I know." The Investigator Special was a non-lethal weapon, but that did not mean it could not cause harm when used improperly.

Jolt smiled at him, and held out his hand. "Come on. Let me help you up."

Prowl let the medic help him stand, and that was when he noticed his Investigator Special lying on the ground nearby.

Ironhide had not taken it.

"Ready to head back to base?" Jolt asked before he transformed into vehicle mode and turned toward the road.

"Yes." Prowl reached down and picked up the weapon, flipping it over in his hand before placing it back at his side. Then he transformed and followed after Jolt.

/* * */

It was cold in the cell. Cold, and damp. And Ratchet hated it.

He was not even sure how he got there. They had chained him against the back wall, he remembered that, but as far as what happened before then, the medic honestly did not know. All he knew was that the air commander must have brought him.

Starscream probably had to drag Ratchet out of the Autobot base. The medic was not light, either.

_Good. That lanky flier deserved to work a little._

Or at least, that was what Ratchet tried to focus his thoughts on, rather than what the Decepticons were planning to do with him now that he was in one of their bases somewhere.

He did not think they would terminate him, not if they wanted to use him as leverage to get Ironhide back. That was the only way Ratchet would be of any use to them, because he was certainly not going to give them a shred of information. Not if he could help it.

Every time Decepticons would walk by his cell, Ratchet was afraid that they would come and interrogate him. So far, they had not, but that only increased the medic's anxiety.

What were they waiting for?

If they were trying to unnerve him, it was working...

Frag it all.

Ratchet tugged feebly against the chains that held him to the floor, making no real effort to free himself. He did not expect to get loose. Rather, he just needed to feel like he was doing something.

He quickly stopped when he heard the door to his cell clang open.

Looking up, Ratchet saw a black and white mech standing in the doorway, and for an astrosecond, he thought it was Prowl.

But it was not. This mech was clearly a Decepticon.

How had Ratchet missed his approach?

Perhaps it was because the medic was stressed, low on fuel, and had not been able to recharge since he got there. Not a good combination when one's mental strength was about to be tested.

Ratchet just hoped he would not break. He tried to physically distance himself from the situation, pressing himself against the wall as the black and white mech drew closer.

Seeing the medic's reaction, Barricade snickered. It was time to push the Autobot a little bit.

"What's wrong, Medic?" he sneered. "We haven't even done anything yet."

"I'm not afraid of you," the Autobot replied sharply.

Barricade laughed. "I never said you were." Then he walked up to the seemingly testy mech, removing the chains from his arms and torso.

"What are you doing?" Ratchet asked, alarmed.

"Cutting you loose. We're gonna go for a little walk."

"I'm not going anywhere," Ratchet insisted.

"It's not your choice!" Barricade snapped back, glaring at the medic. "Move. _Now_."

Reluctantly, Ratchet pushed himself to his feet. His joints creaked in protest, having been stationary for so long, but the medic hardly noticed. He kept most of his attention on the Decepticon in front of him.

Barricade shifted his weight, turning toward the door. He motioned for the Autobot to go first.

When Ratchet hesitated, Barricade pushed him forward. "Always a stubborn one, aren't we?"

The medic rounded on him, his optics casting an icy blue glow in the dim light. "As if you would know!"

Pain flared across Ratchet's sensory grid as the Decepticon struck him hard in the abdominal plating, leaving the medic doubled over and coughing violently.

"Ready to behave now?" Barricade asked when Ratchet finally looked up at him. The Autobot was still clutching his midsection, but had stopped coughing. He said nothing in response.

"You can make this easy or you can make it hard," Barricade continued. "The choice is yours, but you _will_ do what I say."

Ratchet only glared weakly, agitated but unable to put up much of a fight.

What Barricade did not see was Ratchet's well-concealed fear, bordering on panic, and his silent vow to protect those he cared about, no matter the cost.

Straightening, Ratchet turned to face the Decepticon. "What is it you want me to do?"

/* * */

Ironhide deliberately chose the mountainous terrain to help conceal himself. He darted between the rocks, doing his best to stay out of sight.

The black warrior had finally made it out of Iacon, even if it had taken longer than he would have liked. That blasted device of Prowl's was still having an effect on him.

Ironhide had not even transformed out of vehicle mode, not just for speed but also for fear of not being able to maintain his balance. As it was, he felt so distracted that he had a hard time navigating.

If he could just focus for a breem... Maybe it would help if he stopped to rest for a little while. He was far enough from the Autobots now, that he should be able do so without worrying.

Ironhide slowed down behind one of the larger rocks, assuming that its size would afford him some shelter from the wind and provide good cover in case anyone came nearby.

Once he was parked comfortably, the weapons specialist turned off his engine and tried to relax. He did not want to recharge, just calm himself enough to think clearly. He had been anxious for several joors now, and it was not doing him any good.

Whatever had happened, had happened. There was no reason to worry about it now.

Ironhide idly wondered what the Autobots were doing. Were they following him, or not? Maybe they were going to let him go. Or... not pursue him, he should say. It was not like they had just let him out.

He also wondered what they would have done with him, if he had simply cooperated. He would have been curious to know.

But it did not matter anymore. He was here now, and that was all that mattered.

Ironhide looked out over the sand, silently contemplating where he would go from there.


	9. Chapter 9

"What is it you want me to do?"

Silence prevailed as the Autobot and Decepticon faced each other. Through the subdued lighting of the brig, Barricade eyed the medic shrewdly, trying to determine the best way to obtain the information he needed. It should not be that hard, assuming that the Autobot knew the answer.

The Decepticon enforcer noted that the medic looked particularly weary then, and so he decided that he might as well try getting straight to the point. "It's quite simple, really," he explained. "I want you to tell me where Ironhide is."

"He's in Iacon," Ratchet answered, surprised that the Decepticons had not assumed as much. "You would know that already if you had contacted Optimus."

Barricade chuckled lightly. It appeared that things were going to get interesting. "Iacon, huh?"

"That's right."

"Ah, there's just one problem with that story," Barricade replied, keeping his voice even and free of accusation. "We did contact your leader, and he says Ironhide isn't there."

What? That did not make any sense... Ratchet hesitated before responding, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you might. We know that Ironhide was injured in the Badlands, and we know that your team was there. You were probably assigned to his treatment," Barricade stated, walking behind the Autobot. "I find it a bit difficult to believe that you wouldn't know _anything_ about it."

Ratchet looked down at the floor, trying hard to stay where he was with the Decepticon creeping around behind him. "Yes, I was there," he admitted, "and I did treat him. But like I told you, he should still be in Iacon."

"Your comrades say he escaped," Barricade said. "Do you think that's possible?"

Ratchet huffed, exasperated. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Ironhide is good at what he does, but in all likelihood he is still recovering from some very serious injuries," The Decepticon pointed out as he walked back in front of the medic, then stopped to face him. "Would his medical condition have allowed it?"

"I would say so," Ratchet answered, determining that the information was not sensitive in any way. "He was recovering quickly."

The black and white mech seemed to believe him. "All right, Medic, I'll go along with that." Then Barricade paused, but after a moment he continued speaking. "So tell me, did you have to restrain him? Was he a threat to you or your team?"

"We restrained him as a standard precaution," Ratchet detailed. "But no, he did not show any signs of becoming violent."

"Supposedly, he assaulted two Autobots."

That gave Ratchet pause. "Whom?" he asked quietly.

"It doesn't matter," the Decepticon said, stepping back to give Ratchet some space since the mech was cooperating. "What I want to know is who's lying. You, or your team?"

The medic looked genuinely confused. "I don't follow..."

Barricade crossed his arms, appearing mildly irritated now. "Either you know more about Ironhide's whereabouts than you let on, or your superiors know where he is and they don't intend to share that information with us."

"Or perhaps he just escaped on his own," the medic countered. "Ironhide is a skilled mech. You said it yourself."

"Perhaps he did, but don't you find the timing to be a little too... convenient?"

"Convenient for whom?"

"For the Autobots," Barricade replied. "From their perspective, it would be quite strategic to keep Ironhide in custody. They could have simply relocated him, without any intention of telling us or negotiating his exchange for yours."

"Optimus would let him go, if it meant saving one of his own."

"Are you sure about that?" Barricade questioned.

The medic had no doubt. "Yes, I am."

"How can you be certain that your leader's story is not just some kind of clever ruse, one that he simply would not want you to find out about?"

"Because he's not like that," Ratchet asserted, shifting his weight and removing his hand from his abdomen. "We're not like that."

"So you're saying there isn't the slightest chance that he would keep some information from his own mechs, even if it was for the greater good?"

"No..."

The medic sounded a little less sure of himself now. That was what Barricade wanted, to make him doubt everything he thought he knew. He pushed harder. "Do you think he tells you everything?"

The Autobot did not respond, only met Barricade's gaze with stubborn silence.

"Look at it this way," Barricade continued, trying a different approach. "You are a field medic, while Ironhide is a commanding officer who specializes in weapons tech and military strategy. Perhaps your leader doesn't find your expertise to be quite so valuable."

Ratchet narrowed his optics, clearly taking offense from that statement. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"I'm not telling you what to believe," the Decepticon responded coolly. "I'm just suggesting that you look at all the angles, and draw conclusions for yourself."

/* * */

Ironhide's systems whirred quietly, running at only half capacity. The idle mech did not even realize that he had fallen into recharge until he woke up—at dusk the following orn.

Frag, that had never happened before. He must have been more tired than he thought. He quickly scanned for any indications of someone having been there during his period of... incognizance.

Finding no signs of intruders, the weapons specialist let out a contented sigh. He felt like he could recharge for a few more cycles, but he knew he had been there too long already. It was time get moving.

After all, he wanted to do most of his traveling while it was dark, and it would be dark soon.

Ironhide fired up his engine, running another diagnostic to make sure that all of his necessary systems were operational and no critical errors were present. His HUD notified him of only one potential concern.

_Energon levels below normal. Perforation detected in left lateral fuel rail._

An energon leak? Scrap... That damaged line must not have completely sealed itself. As soon as he could, he would probably need to patch it.

At least it was just a slow leak. His reserves should be able to compensate for it until then.

Ironhide shuddered, attempting to shake off the sand that had accumulated on his vehicle mode, then he slowly rolled forward and stopped. Everything seemed fine.

It would have to be. He had a lot of ground to cover, and limited options if something went wrong. He did not even have any basic first aid supplies with him, or a way to contact anyone...

But the Decepticon warrior had survived far worse. A solo trip without the ability to call for backup would hardly be the most difficult thing he had ever done. He would just take it slow, and be careful not to overtax his systems.

_Slow and steady wins the race..._

Or at least, it would this time.

Ironhide pulled away from the rock that had sheltered him throughout the daylight joors, taking off toward the open desert. However, even though he was going a bit slower than he normally would, he had to decelerate as soon as his tires hit the deeper sand and started slipping.

Ironhide hated sand. It was hard to get enough traction on it, and it stuck to everything.

Not unlike the sticky residue left by Prowl's Investigator Special. It was going to take a while for Ironhide to get all of that off.

Or maybe the sand would wear it away...

_Yeah, right. And scraplets are soft and fuzzy._

Shifting his focus to something important, Ironhide realized that the side effects from the stun blast were gone. He actually felt a lot better.

_About time_ , the weapons specialist thought. It would be much easier for him to navigate, and remain aware of his surroundings, now that he was not so distracted. That was good, because he did not want any surprises along the way. The last thing he needed was to run into any Autobots or Decepticons.

Shifting his attention to something else again, Ironhide looked out at the vast mountain range off in the distance. That was where he would go next—it was isolated, and he could follow it almost all the way to Kaon. It would be a little faster to cut across the desert, but the Decepticon commander was not going to make that mistake again.

Or... had it been a mistake?

Ironhide could think of no reason why his team would want to eliminate him. There had to be another explanation. But what? Had his telemetry been off?

No, that did not really seem possible. Ironhide knew the area like the back of his hand, and even if his navigation system had malfunctioned or failed, he would have known about it. And he most certainly would not have gotten lost. Besides, he had known where he was the entire time.

So what else could have caused the accident?

Perhaps Starscream had placed the landmine there by mistake, like Ironhide had originally suspected. The gray Seeker could be foolish at times and had been known to act without forethought, so it did not seem that unlikely. Did he even know that Ironhide would occasionally cut across that area?

Or had Megatron ordered him to place the device there? If so, it was against Decepticon regulations. Could it be possible that the lord high protector had resorted to such dishonorable methods, attempting to outwit the Autobots but potentially injuring nuetrals or even his own mechs?

The latter scenario did not seem very likely, yet Ironhide could not help but wonder if what Jazz said was true. Did the visored mech really have evidence to prove it, or was he lying?

Either way, Ironhide was going to find out.

/* * */

Ratchet was getting upset. He knew he should have tried harder not to, and that Barricade was baiting him, but he was tired and flustered and just could not help it, and Barricade's absurd suggestion only made it worse. "I don't need to draw any conclusions," the medic hissed.

"Easy, now," the Decepticon replied in an obviously insincere attempt to pacify the other mech. "There's no need to get touchy. I'm just offering you a little advice."

That only aggravated Ratchet more. "As if I need any advice from the likes of you," he commented sharply.

Barricade glared at him. "Don't get smart with me, Medic."

Ratchet raised his voice, his posture becoming more aggressive. "Why the Pit not? You're probably going to terminate me anyway!"

"Keep it up, and I just might!"

Ratchet yelped in surprise and pain as Barricade grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the back wall. Then the Decepticon held him there, pushing him harder and causing the medic to grunt as his fluorescent armor scraped against the rough surface of the concrete.

"You don't listen very well, Autobot," Barricade sneered, "so let me make this real simple for you."

The black and white enforcer moved one hand from Ratchet's shoulder to the medic's throat, pressing just hard enough to make the Autobot squirm.

"You might be of more value to us alive, but that doesn't mean I would hesitate to teach you some manners," Barricade warned, giving Ratchet one more threatening push. "You would do well to remember that."

Ratchet stared hard at the Decepticon for a moment, then he forcefully shoved him away.

Barricade stumbled back a few steps, having not expected any retaliation, but he quickly regained his footing and turned to face the Autobot.

"So you like making things harder for yourself, Autobot?"

The medic reached up to run a hand along the plating of his neck, checking for any damage. "This isn't about what I like."

"Oh? Then what is it about?"

"If you have to ask, you wouldn't understand."

Barricade growled. "You're a pretty brazen mech considering your current situation, you know that?"

"I can't say I care," the medic retorted.

Barricade actually laughed at that. "Very well, Autobot. I'm willing to overlook your attitude if you tell me something else I would like to know."

"What?"

"If you had the option of working with us on one assignment, in exchange for your freedom afterwards, would you take it?"

Ratchet snorted in indignation. "How could I possibly know that you would stay true to your word?"

"You would just have to trust us."

"I can't say that I do," Ratchet answered honestly.

"Wouldn't it give you a better chance than not cooperating?" the Decepticon asked. "How else are you going to get out of here?"

Ratchet said nothing.

"Don't you even want to know what the assignment would be?"

"No, I don't!" Ratchet snapped, bracing himself for what he was about to do. "So why don't you save yourself the trouble and just leave me alone?"

"Watch your mouth, Autobot!" Barricade glared pointedly at him. "I'm not telling you again."

"What difference would it make? We both know you'll do whatever you want regardless!"

"You want it that way? Fine!" Barricade lashed out at the Autobot, striking him in the chest plating. Ratchet yelped again, the force of the blow denting his heavy armor.

The medic instinctively tried to back away, but found himself thrown to the ground instead. Suddenly Barricade was looming over him, pinning his arms with one hand and digging his taloned claws into the medic's chest with the other.

Ratchet bit back the urge to cry out as the sharp metal nicked several energon lines, and Barricade's grasp tightened to an almost unbearable level. He shuttered his optics, trying to resist the crushing pain he felt over his spark.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, Barricade released his grip, and stepped away from him.

"Consider my offer," the enforcer said, as if nothing had happened. "I'll be back later to check up on you."

The medic watched him leave, waiting for the cell door to close before he slowly and painfully rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. After panting for a few moments, he activated his medical scanner and checked himself. He could feel energon trickling down his chest plates, so he knew there was at least some damage.

Ratchet did not even need to finish the scan before he realized it was more serious than he thought. His HUD warned him—Barricade had cut a main line.


	10. Chapter 10

It would be morning soon. He could sense it.

It had taken an entire orn for Ironhide to make the journey back to Kaon. Darkness still prevailed when he rolled up to the security gate, although the sky was already beginning to get lighter and the stars had begun to fade. Ironhide's paint glinted dully underneath a light coat of sand.

The two Vehicon guards did not even verify the black mech's identity. They knew him by sight, and simply lifted the barrier.

_Foolish_ , Ironhide thought, driving past the purple mechs. They were supposed to check, whether or not they recognized him. It was for security reasons. What if he had been an impostor? Then anyone could have infiltrated the base.

But Ironhide was not concerned with that now. The fact that he had returned after such a long absence and the guards had not even asked where he had been only made things easier for him. He knew he would be debriefed, but it would be better if it happened inside the base than outside of it.

He drove by a few other Decepticons wordlessly, heading to the hangar where he would usually go after a mission. It was located inside his faction's main base, just outside Kaon itself but well within the city limits, which extended a few kliks beyond the city in all directions.

Ironhide did not normally venture into the depths of Kaon, unless an assignment required it, simply because there was no reason to. He spent most of his free time on the base, or the outskirts of it, where he could train or relax without being bothered by anyone.

Most mechs knew to leave him alone, especially if he looked overtaxed, unless they needed something important. It was no different now, and when Ironhide finally pulled into the hangar, the only mech to approach him was Shockwave. The others were doubtlessly curious—they had known that Ironhide's last mission was only supposed to take two orns—but they kept their distance, watching from wherever they happened to be.

The weapons specialist rolled to a stop, waiting to be told where to go. "Ironhide, reporting."

"Report to bay 9," Shockwave instructed him. "Have you notified command of your presence?"

"Negative," Ironhide responded. "My communications systems are offline."

"I see. Report as ordered and wait for further instructions. I will notify command."

"Understood." Ironhide pulled forward, turning toward the proper bay as Shockwave stepped aside.

How ironic, the weapons specialist thought, that the mech currently in charge was the very same one he was supposed to have met in Tarn.

Actually, it was not that ironic. Shockwave, Starscream, and Ironhide were considered to be of the same rank despite their different functions, and they were the highest ranking mechs besides Lord Megatron himself. With Ironhide missing in action, one of the other two would have taken on his duties. It would have more likely been Starscream, since he was usually stationed at this base and Shockwave was not, but the scientist may have been put in Starscream's place if the air commander had more pressing duties to attend to.

Still, under the current circumstances, it felt odd to receive orders. Ironhide was normally the one giving orders here.

But he did as he was told, pulling into the bay and parking. He did not transform, since he was not sure how long he would need to wait.

He would be glad to get all the dirt and grime off his alt mode. Not only could he feel it, but he could see it in the reflective surface of the wall. His usually clean armor was dented and scratched, and not a single panel was free of dust or sand. Even his headlights were dim, their light partially obscured by a very fine layer of dust. He turned them off, resting for a moment.

It seemed like a lot of time was passing, but that was fine with him. He did not even resist as the far away sounds of the base slowly lulled him closer to recharge.

"Commander Ironhide."

Ironhide almost startled at the sound of someone calling his designation from behind him. Then he transformed, turning to see Barricade waiting a short distance away from where he had parked.

"I will be debriefing you," the black and white mech said. "Are you ready to do it now, or do you require medical attention first?"

"Let's do it now." Ironhide responded, wanting to get the debriefing over and done with. He knew he needed medical attention, but he could go to the med bay afterwards and tend to his own injuries. They were not severe enough to require the attention of a medic—his own knowledge of first aid would be more than sufficient.

"Very well. Come with me."

Barricade turned toward the door that led further into the base. Debriefings usually occurred in the interrogation room, simply because it allowed for privacy from the lower ranks and it was already set up for video and voice recording. It also minimized distractions, which made it easier for some mechs to recall important details.

Ironhide walked behind the smaller Decepticon, exiting the hangar and then heading down a long hallway. Barricade gestured toward the interrogation room, probably out of habit since Ironhide already knew where it was. The black mech stepped inside, followed by Barricade.

Barricade closed the door, then moved to the table as Ironhide sat down. The enforcer pulled up another chair and sat across from Ironhide.

"All right, Commander," Barricade started. "You know how this goes. I ask you some questions, you answer them fully, and then we're out of here. You'll have the remainder of the orn to yourself for diagnostics, medical attention, or rest."

"Understood."

"Good. Let's get started." Barricade clasped his hands together on the table's surface. "I know you know this, but standard procedure says I have to ask it anyway."

"Of course."

"What was your mission?"

"I was sent to Tarn," Ironhide answered, "to meet with Shockwave and a few others."

"All right. Then what happened?"

"Then... I was crossing the Badlands, into neutral territory, and hit an explosive device."

"Do you remember what happened after that?" Barricade prompted him.

"Not immediately after," Ironhide replied. "I was incapacitated for some amount of time. I remember coming online afterwards, and being unable to get up. I powered down to save energy. That was when the Autobots found me."

"How many Autobots were there?"

"Four of them. The yellow scout, Ultra Magnus, Bulkhead, and Ratchet."

"How do you know that if you were in power-down?" Barricade asked.

"I was awake then. My scanners alerted me when they arrived."

"All right." The enforcer leaned back, getting a little more comfortable. "So do you remember them taking you to Iacon?"

Ironhide paused. "How do you know I was in Iacon?"

"It was not hard to deduce it," Barricade quickly explained. "It is their center of operations."

"It is," the weapons specialist acknowledged. "I didn't see much of it. Just the med bay, brig, and one of the hangars."

"So they gave you medical care?"

"Yeah. They probably had to, or I would have permanently offlined while in custody."

Barricade raised an optic ridge at that. "Are you saying they saved your life?"

What? Ironhide had not thought of it exactly that way... "I suppose they did."

"And how did they treat you otherwise?"

"They kept me restrained most of the time. Eventually put me in the brig. I don't know what they were going to do after that. One of them came and talked to me, but that was all."

"Do you know which one?" Barricade asked.

"Jazz, their head of intelligence."

"What did he have to say?"

"Not much," Ironhide responded, shifting in his chair. "Said he wasn't there to interrogate me. Told me about the landmines, like I didn't already know."

"Like you didn't already know what?"

"That they were ours. I knew it after I hit one."

Barricade focused on him a little more closely. "And how does that make feel?"

"I kind of feel like they shouldn't have been there," Ironhide freely admitted, not trying to hide the slight hint of accusation in his voice.

"Starscream must have made a mistake," Barricade offered. "You know how he can be."

"Yes, I do." Not that it helped any.

"I think everyone does." Barricade chuckled, then got back to being more serious again. "Will you have any problems working with him from now on?"

"That depends if he can stop acting like a glitch-headed drone."

The black and white Decepticon laughed at that, finding Ironhide's statement particularly amusing. "We both know there's not much chance of that happening."

Ironhide snorted through his vents. "Yeah. Who am I kidding?"

Barricade just smirked. "Well, I think I've got what I need for now. Is there anything else you'd like to mention before we finish up?"

"Not at this time," the black mech replied.

"All right. Then you may be dismissed."

Ironhide got up, letting himself out as Barricade stayed behind to compile his report. The Decepticon enforcer always liked to finish those right away.

Heading for the wash racks, Ironhide silently contemplated what was going on. His processor seemed to be on a hundred different things as he thought about what had happened, what was happening, and what might happen, and all of the variables that could be involved. It was too much to think about, but he could not stop it.

The invasive thoughts persisted even when he found himself in the wash racks. As he cleaned the dirt and road grime off his armor, his focus remained elsewhere.

It got a little better by the time he was done. Maybe it was just that sense of familiarity, but Ironhide felt somewhat relieved to have one thing back to normal.

The black mech stepped out into the empty hallway. It was already late afternoon, about time to go to the med bay and take care of anything he needed to take care of with regard to his systems and physical condition. He was definitely low on energon now, and it would be unwise to ignore it any longer.

Ironhide transformed into vehicle mode, simply because it would be a bit easier to move around in, and then he headed for one of the med bays.

On his way there, the base was relatively quiet. He heard a few mechs talking about some mission on Trypticon Station, so apparently many of them were somewhere near there but on the planet's surface. Ironhide did not really care about it.

What he did care about was who he noticed roaming the halls at that moment—Megatron.

The lord high protector had his back to him, but he undoubtedly knew that Ironhide was there. Ironhide continued on like he had been, not doing anything out of the ordinary.

Megatron turned around when he heard the weapons specialist getting closer. The silver mech greeted Ironhide with a wave of his hand. "Ironhide."

Ironhide transformed, standing before his leader as would be expected. "Lord Megatron."

Megatron smiled broadly. "Shockwave informed me of your return, and I must say that we are very pleased to have you back."

Ironhide only nodded, not sure what to say or even if Megatron was telling the truth. Now was not the time to try to find out—Ironhide had yet to repair his weapons, and he would be almost defenseless if things got out of hand.

Megatron continued, "I trust that Barricade notified you that you will be given the remainder of the orn off?"

"Yes, he did."

"Excellent! Because tomorrow, I have an assignment for you."

"An assignment?" Ironhide questioned.

"Yes. Starscream and I have other matters to attend to," Megatron explained. "I was going to give this assignment to Shockwave, but now that you're here, you can resume your normal duties. Shockwave will remain in Kaon for a few more orns to assist you while you readjust, and he will also be working with you on this assignment."

"Understood. What is the assignment?"

"Well, we captured an Autobot medic just a few orns ago."

"Is that so?" Ironhide replied, wisely giving no indication that he might know the mech.

"Indeed," Megatron said, watching the black mech closely. "You see, we originally intended to negotiate for your return, but Prime informed us that you had already escaped."

"Then why is the medic still in custody? He's not even warrior class..."

Ironhide realized it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he said it. Megatron leaned over him menacingly, his tone dropping an octave. "Are you questioning my authority, Ironhide? Should I be concerned that your time with the Autobots has adversely affected you?"

"Of course not," the weapons specialist responded with more confidence than he felt.

"Good, because it would be unfortunate to lose such a valuable asset." Megatron straightened. "Now, Barricade has been unable to procure much useful information from our Autobot prisoner. See to it that  _ your _ interrogation yields better results."


	11. Chapter 11

Ironhide returned to his quarters, not even bothering to visit the med bay. He needed something more important than what he could get there.

He needed time to think.

Everything was happening too fast, and he felt like he had no control over it.

The weapons specialist drew in a few deep vents, trying to calm himself before he blew a circuit. He had to think things through, and he could not do it if he was about to have a processor meltdown.

Why the frag was this upsetting him so much?

He was not so worried that Megatron wanted to offline him—indeed, the Decepticon leader could have easily done it earlier—but something just did not feel right, and Ironhide could not pinpoint what it was. Maybe his anxiety over the entire situation was starting to get the better of him, or perhaps it was just the fact that he might be interrogating a mech whom he knew.

But if Ironhide had a duty to perform, did it really matter if the mech was Ratchet? No, it did not...

The medic had taken care of him, sure, but it was just part of his function. Was that any reason for Ironhide to treat him any differently? No.

Then why did he feel so conflicted about it?

A better question was why he even cared right now. The medic was probably fine—sitting in the brig might be uncomfortable, but it was hardly the worst thing that could happen. And of course, Ironhide would certainly not hurt him during his interrogation. He would probably even tell Shockwave to leave, since two mechs were rarely needed to handle one unarmed prisoner.

Ironhide's HUD reminded him yet again that he should rest, and the black mech reluctantly complied. He lied down on the berth, thinking that he could figure things out in the morning. It might be easier then, after he had recharged for a bit and cleared his processor.

But he could not recharge. He had to find out if the mech was Ratchet.

Ironhide got up, taking a moment to glance out the window. It was dark outside now, so Megatron and Starscream should be gone. They were leaving for Trypticon Station at nightfall.

Edging his way closer to the door, Ironhide silently deliberated over whether or not he really wanted to do this. What if he got caught?

Well, probably nothing would happen. He was just going to see if the Autobot prisoner was Ratchet, and that was all. It was not like he would be breaking protocol in any way by doing that.

Ironhide peeked out into the hallway. There was no one there so he stepped out of his quarters, closing the door behind him. Then he transformed and headed toward the brig.

/* * */

_Energon levels critical and falling. Prepare for emergency stasis lock._

No! Ratchet had to fight it, had to stay online. He issued a command to override his systems' protocols.

He knew it was unwise, but he had to do it anyway. The only thing keeping him from the Well of AllSparks was the pressure of his hand on his chest, which partially sealed off the leaking energon line. If he went into emergency stasis lock... Well, the medic would rather not think about what would happen then. He had never been in that state before.

_Focus. Stay awake, keep the pressure on, and everything will be fine._

But he was losing the battle quickly. With every passing breem it was getting harder to vent properly. He felt like he just could not get enough air, and his respirations were increasing.

So was his spark rate, yet instead of energizing him it only made him feel fatigued.

And there was the obvious issue of the energon leak getting worse as his spark pulsated faster.

But Ratchet could not do anything about that. Or at least, not with what he had available right then.

He needed his medical kit. Why did he not carry more of it with him?

It was a question for a different time. Being the medical professional that he was, Ratchet instead focused on the situation at hand. With nearly clinical detachment, he took constant notes of everything he was going through, evaluating his own symptoms almost as if he was not the mech experiencing them.

His vision was starting to blur. He tried hard to readjust it and focus on something, anything, but he could not.

_Scrap!_ The medic shuttered his optics, not deeming the effort worth his attention.

He was panting now, just trying to stay online and overriding another emergency protocol. It took all of the concentration he had just to do that.

Distantly, Ratchet heard another mech enter his cell. He did not react, staying doubled over on the ground like had had been. There was nothing more he could do to defend himself anyway. Why waste the energy?

It sounded like the mech was saying something, but Ratchet could not make out the words. He could not even online his optics to see who it was.

The injured Autobot felt himself being lifted up. As much as he wanted to push away from the mech, he found himself clinging to the warm metal plates and the little bit of comfort they provided. That was the last feeling he wanted to remember, and he held onto it until he finally slipped into stasis.

/* * */

Ironhide drove cautiously through the empty hallways of the Decepticon brig. They were much like those of the Autobot brig in Iacon, albeit darker.

He was not exactly sure where the medic would be, so he was checking every cell systematically. They were all unoccupied, except for one...

Ironhide quickly transformed. He had more or less expected to find Ratchet when he got to the Autobot's cell, but he certainly did not expect the scene that was unfolding in front of him.

Ratchet was on the ground with a hand over his chest, leaking energon at an alarming rate. He was trembling, and did not even lift his helm when Ironhide rushed up to the bars. For a brief moment, the black mech was at a complete loss as to what to do.

" _Ratchet!_ " he whispered loudly, trying to get the Autobot's attention but without alerting anyone else that might be nearby. The medic did not respond, and Ironhide cursed silently before he tried calling to him again with the same results.

Ironhide was no medic, but he knew a serious condition when he saw one. What the frag was he going to do? Call for backup?

No, there was not enough time. It was surprising that the medic had not offlined already, considering the large amounts of energon that had pooled underneath him.

Ironhide unlocked the heavy door of the cell and slid it aside, unsure of what to do but knowing he had to do something.

The only thing he could think of was trying to control the energon leak. He walked over to Ratchet and knelt down beside him.

"Hey, Ratchet, it's me." Still no response, but Ironhide talked to him anyway in case he could hear him somehow. "I'm gonna help you, all right?"

Ironhide did not wait for an answer before he slipped his hand under Ratchet's, trying to stem the leak. The extra pressure must have been a bit painful, because Ratchet groaned softly.

"Just hold on. It'll be fine." Ironhide carefully scooped him up, keeping one hand on the medic's chest plating as Ratchet feebly tried to grasp his armor.

The medic was barely conscious, and Ironhide carried him down into the lower levels of the base, where the labs would be basically abandoned. Especially one particular one—they would be safe there.

Ironhide stopped in front of a large door, adjusting his grip before keying in the code with his free hand and stepping inside. The door slid closed behind him, locking itself automatically. He placed the medic on a table in the middle of the room, still keeping a hand over the medic's chest. Ratchet had gone unconscious a little while ago, so Ironhide increased the pressure he was applying to the damaged area, knowing that the medic would not feel it now anyway.

With his other hand, the weapons specialist opened one of the drawers beneath the table's surface and grabbed a soldering kit. He was not an expert in field repairs, but he did know how to patch a leaking energon line. It was a skill that came in handy after a fight, especially if he was alone.

Ironhide removed one of Ratchet's armor panels and clamped off the two ends of the damaged line, effectively cutting off the flow of energon. He had to work fast to prevent any sensitive components from overheating due to a lack of circulation.

Firing up the soldering gun, Ironhide promptly started knitting the outer surface of the braided line back together. The inner part would have to heal on its own, but he could saturate it with an alloy and stop the leak until then. Ratchet's systems would simply discard the excess material when it was no longer needed.

It took several breems for Ironhide to finish the repair, and he unclamped the line as soon as he was done with it. It would be less flexible than an undamaged line for quite some time, so he very carefully put in back where it was supposed to go before he reattached the armor panel that went over the top of it.

Then the weapons specialist stepped back, taking a moment to regain his composure. He only then noticed that he was shaking.

Frag, it was a wonder that he had managed to keep his hands steady while doing the repairs.

He desperately needed to refuel, and so did Ratchet. Ironhide turned around and checked the storage area for any extra energon. He usually kept some medical grade on hand, just so he would not need to go to the med bay for every minor injury.

After finding only one full cube, Ironhide stopped searching and prepared to administer it. He retrieved an IV bag and syringe from one of the drawers, using the syringe to draw out three-quarters of the liquid from the cube and place it in the bag. He saved the other quarter for himself.

One-quarter of a cube would hardly be enough to get Ironhide's energon levels back up, but he knew he could manage. It was obvious that Ratchet needed the precious liquid far more than he did.

The veteran warrior moved back to the table, gently grasping Ratchet's hand and looking for a place to insert the small needle of the IV tubing. Finding one, he carefully pushed the tip of the needle in, and wrapped it with a bandage. Then he finished setting up the drip, adjusting the flow rate to one of the higher settings.

With the medic taken care of, Ironhide could now tend to his own needs. First, he needed to get some energon into his systems before he passed out.

Ironhide retrieved the cube and then loaded the remaining amount of blue liquid into an autoinjecting syringe, partially because it was easier to use one-handed, and partially because he did not like sticking himself with needles. He pressed the tip of the device against his forearm until he triggered the spring-loaded needle within it, then he waited as its contents were injected.

He drew the needle out and set it aside, closing his optics for a few seconds as the sudden influx of energon temporarily overwhelmed his systems. It always felt strange when that happened, and he momentarily stopped venting as the faint discomfort grew into an intense feeling of tightness in his spark.

But it was over just as quickly, leaving the weapons specialist relieved if a bit tired. He knew his processor was trying to tell him something, otherwise that does of energon should have had the opposite effect. He had not heeded the warnings on his HUD, so now his CPU was tampering with his mental state in order to notify him that his reserves were still very low.

And of course, Ironhide already knew that he would not be able to run on that amount of energon for very long. He needed to get more, but that would mean leaving Ratchet alone.

He looked back at the chartreuse mech, lightly putting a hand on the medic's shoulder to see if he was awake.

Ratchet did not respond, nor had Ironhide expected him to. The medic would probably be unresponsive for the next few joors, until enough energon permeated his systems that his CPU deemed it safe for him to online.

Ironhide stepped away from the injured Autobot, deciding that he would go get energon for both of them before the mech woke up. And before anyone realized what he was doing.

What exactly was he doing?

Ironhide was still not sure, but he somehow felt that he had to do it. Turning around, the black mech walked to the door, glancing at Ratchet one more time before he entered the unlock code stepped into the hallway, locking the door behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

Ratchet had not onlined by the time Ironhide got back. The weapons specialist did not have access to a medical scanner, nor did he really know how to use one, but he could detect Ratchet's spark signal and so he knew that the medic was still with him. He would just wait a little while longer for the mech to wake up.

Ironhide walked over to his workbench, setting down the energon that he had brought back with him. He had managed to acquire three more cubes of it from a vacant storage area in one of the med bays. Two were medical grade, while the other was regular. He set the regular one aside and checked Ratchet's IV bag, refilling it with a cube of medical grade. Ironhide then opened the other cube of medical grade for himself, but he did not drink any of it yet.

Medical grade energon was highly concentrated and notoriously bitter, which was why it was normally given intravenously and at a slow drip rate. Rather than flooding his systems with it like he had last time, Ironhide opted to take it in slowly, and not via IV. Letting his tanks filter it first would also help make sure that it did not enter his systems too quickly.

Ironhide picked up the cube, taking a small sip as he went to get his soldering gun. Now that he had no other pressing concerns, he could solder the wiring for his cannons.

The black mech pulled up a stool, sitting down next to the table. Then he disconnected his cannons and set them on the table's surface. He flipped one of the large weapons over, exposing the wiring underneath, and that was when he noticed that Ratchet had cut through the entire wiring harness.

Scrap. That would make it harder to repair.

But had he been in the medic's position, Ironhide would have done the exact same thing. There was no easy way to tell which wire controlled what, and in a hostile situation, disarming the enemy swiftly was of the utmost importance. There was not time to try to figure out which wires needed to be cut and which did not.

Ironhide was not a proponent of repairing that many wires in any one location. He would have much rather preferred to replace the entire wiring harness, but that was one component which he did not have on hand. Repairing it would have to suffice.

Ironhide unrolled a small length of solder, and began soldering the broken wires back together. He worked quietly, thinking about what he was going to do when Ratchet came back online. Should he suggest that they escape? Or would Ratchet not trust him?

Maybe he would just wait and see what the medic did.

As Ironhide finished the first repair, he covered the area with heat shrink tubing to seal it off from the outside environment. Repairing every wire in the both harnesses would probably take the better part of a joor, but the weapons specialist was in no hurry. He would rather take his time and double-check his work.

Ironhide's estimate proved to be fairly accurate. About a joor later, when he was satisfied that he had completed his repairs, he picked up one and then the other of the heavy weapons and positioned them in heir rightful locations on either arm. Then he locked them into place with an audible click, realizing just how strange it had been to not feel that familiar weight on his forearms.

Stepping away from the table, Ironhide powered up his weapons system, carefully checking for any anomalies and finding none. He powered the system down, spinning his cannons to dissipate the small amount of excess heat that was generated. Then he looked back at Ratchet.

The Autobot was still out cold, but Ironhide's repairs to his chest seemed to be holding. Ironhide walked back to the table to examine the medic's injuries more closely, taking another sip of energon as he did so. Most of the damage appeared to be cosmetic, just scratches and scrapes, but a few larger dents implied that there could be hidden injuries underneath, potentially more serious ones than those that were visible on the surface.

But the Decepticon warrior could neither identify nor treat those injuries. His medical ability was limited to the most basic skills, and half of what he knew came from just improvising things out on the battlefield...

It was frustrating. Not that he had to improvise things, but that he had no one he could rely on to help him figure things out. With Ratchet, the Decepticons, even himself.

But that was how it always was. After all, whom could you really trust besides yourself?

No one, really. Ironhide would just have to do the best he could, and so far, it seemed to be enough. Ratchet's condition was stable, and Ironhide guessed that the Autobot would wake up before long.

It might be a good time for Ironhide to fix his comm link. It would give him something to do, and then he could communicate privately if he needed to. It was not always convenient to have to say everything aloud.

As far as the weapons specialist could tell, all of the wiring for that system was intact. That was a good thing because most of the wires ran down his back, and although that usually protected the comm link from damage, it could also make it extremely difficult to repair. But Ironhide would not need help to repair the antenna, which is what he assumed had been damaged. It was easily accessible under some plating in his chest.

Ironhide shifted the plating out of the way, uncovering a winding coil of wire that served as the antenna for his comm system. Like he thought, the antenna was damaged.

Well, it was not damaged per se, but the mildly sensitive alloy had been discolored by heat, and that was probably affecting its ability to pick up or transmit signals. It would be an easy fix, just remove it and snap-in a suitable replacement.

Ironhide rummaged through a few drawers, looking for a length of wire that he could use to make an antenna. Almost anything would work, as long as it was pliable enough for him to bend it into a circle.

Eventually finding one, he wrapped it around his wrist to make a coil, and then he snipped off the ends so it would be the proper length. The length was important for it to detect the right wavelength, without getting too much interference. Constant static would be annoying.

But when Ironhide inserted his makeshift antenna into the original connector, there was no static. However, there was something else that was much more concerning.

Megatron had been hailing him.

Ironhide thought about whether or not he was going to respond, and if he did, what he was going to say. It was unusual for the Lord High Protector to contact him at such an unusual joor, especially since Ironhide was technically not on duty. Shockwave was taking his place until morning.

Ironhide paced a few times, finally deciding that it did not matter whether or not anyone knew what he had done. He would respond as he normally would, because it was important not to arouse suspicion if Megatron had not found out yet. And if the Decepticon leader did know, it was equally important for Ironhide to be aware of that.

Reluctantly, the weapons specialist flicked on a terminal to contact his leader.

"Lord Megatron, this is Ironhide speaking."

The screen lit up, Megatron's steely visage centered in the middle of it.

_"Ironhide,"_ Megatron growled, _"it seems that you have disobeyed my orders. Allow me to remind you that aiding the enemy is a capital offense."_

"Is that so?" Ironhide answered indifferently, knowing that he had been caught and not really caring.

_"Indeed,"_ the ex-gladiator continued. _"However, I would be willing to overlook your transgression if you return the Autobot to the brig. Now."_

"Over my lifeless frame!" Ironhide snarled, spinning his cannons in frustration.

Megatron almost seemed to have been expecting that answer. _"Very well. Then you both will share the same fate!"_

The screen suddenly flickered off, leaving Ironhide stunned and just as upset as he had been earlier. He powered off his cannons, not realizing that he had actually powered them on, and then he took a moment to try to calm down.

Frag, a million things could go wrong now. But it would not do any good to think about it that way.

Ironhide considered the things that were going right. He had his weapons back, he knew what he was up against—which was more than he could say for a lot of his missions—and he knew that it could take some time for anyone to find him. The only cameras in the base that actually recorded were the ones in the high-security areas, like the brig and energon storage facilities. Anyone looking for him or Ratchet would probably check the med bays or exits first.

It would be all right. Maybe not right away, but soon.

/* * */

The first thing he felt was a stiffness in his chest. His processor was tugging at him, urging him to come back online and determine what was causing that unusual feeling, but he tried to ignore it. He was too tired, too disoriented to deal with anything right now, and he was fairly certain that he would not even have the strength to lift his own frame.

But Ratchet's CPU initiated the startup protocols involuntarily, forcing the medic to face reality much sooner than he would have liked.

As the haze of stasis lock lifted slowly, Ratchet became aware of a mech in the immediate vicinity. He quickly tried to get up, to put some distance between himself and the shadowy figure of a Decepticon, but his balance was not quite adequate yet and his movements seemed to make the room spin.

"Cool your circuits, Ratchet. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already."

The Autobot did calm down upon hearing his designation. He had not given it to anyone since he was captured, and he thought he recognized the voice. "Ironhide?"

The black mech huffed lightly. "No, Primus." Then he shifted his crimson gaze to the rocket launcher on his left arm, cleaning it with a washcloth.

Ratchet blinked. Ironhide was the last mech he had expected to see. Pit, he would have been less surprised if it had been Primus.

Cautiously, the medic tried to sit up. He felt like he could do it, if he was careful. Ironhide glanced at him for a second, as if checking to make sure that the Autobot did not need his help, before turning his attention back to his weapons.

Ratchet pushed himself upright, looking around for a moment. Then he felt suddenly nauseous.

Doubling over, the medic tried not to heave on the table's surface. Ironhide was at his side instantly, trying to soothe him.

"Easy, Ratch. It's okay."

Ratchet gagged but somehow managed not to purge. After regaining some amount of composure, he turned to Ironhide. "What's in that IV bag?"

"Medical grade energon," the weapons specialist replied.

"No wonder," Ratchet panted, starting to recover from the bout of illness. "The flow rate is too high."

Ironhide looked almost sheepish. "Sorry."

The medic waved a hand dismissively, straightening a bit. "It's all right. I'll live."

"Good to know," Ironhide responded, though his tone seemed to lack any emotion. "I wasn't so sure for a while there."

Ratchet huffed derisively in agreement. "Neither was I."

Nothing was said for a long moment after that, both mechs lost in their own thoughts. Ironhide was still tinkering with his cannons, though it was obvious that he was not doing anything of consequence. He kept his gaze lowered as he queried Ratchet.

"What happened to you, anyway?"

Ratchet smirked faintly, thinking of how ironic it was that he had been so deliberately foolish and yet he had still survived. "I did something stupid," he explained. "Let's leave it at that."

Ironhide did not look up from his work, but he also gave a small smile. "Haven't we all?"

"I imagine so," the medic replied idly, taking a moment to study the battle-scarred warrior before him. The mech was noticeably fatigued—his optics were slightly dim, and he was not holding his posture quite as well as he had been the orns before—yet he continued to function as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. "Ironhide?"

The Decepticon looked at him then. "Yeah?"

Ratchet paused for just an astrosecond before continuing. "Do you think you could help me off this table?"

Ironhide stood up. "Very well."

The medic slid to the edge of the table, swinging his legs over the threshold as Ironhide prepared to support him by the underside of his arms.

"Ready?" the black mech asked.

"Yeah."

Ironhide picked the medic up and set him on the floor, and although he did so without apparent difficulty, Ratchet's trained optics did not miss the pained wince that ghosted across the Ironhide's faceplates.

"You okay, Ironhide?"

"I'm fine," was the gruff reply.

"No, you're not," Ratchet ventured. "Would it be all right if I take a look at you?"

Ironhide paused for a moment, keeping his optics on Ratchet as he considered the offer. Then he relented. "Fine."

"All right. Just stand still." Ratchet slid aside the panel on his forearm that covered his medical scanner, sweeping the beam over Ironhide's chassis. It flicked red in several places.

"Nothing is critical right now," the Autobot informed him, "but you are putting a lot of stress on your systems. When was the last time you recharged?"

Ironhide thought about it for a moment. "About 56 joors ago."

"Primus," Ratchet muttered. "Tell me you've at least had some energon in that amount of time?"

Ironhide gestured at the cube of energon on the table. "I've got some right here."

"You've hardly touched it," the medic observed.

"I had some earlier," Ironhide said, "before that."

"How much?" Ratchet inquired.

"A quarter cube."

"Of medical grade?"

"Yeah," the black mech replied.

"Via what route?"

"Direct injection."

Ratchet cocked an optic ridge. "You injected it all at once?"

Ironhide nodded.

"That probably didn't feel to good."

"Can't say it did," Ironhide admitted, "but I didn't want to wait around."

"Well, if you want to make sure your systems don't fail from a chronic lack of power, you should at least finish that cube."

"Now?"

"Yes, now," Ratchet huffed. "When else?"

Ironhide glared at him weakly, his expression conveying his thoughts just as clearly as if he had used words.

"Sorry. I know you're tired." Ratchet softened his tone. He had honestly forgotten that he was talking to a Decepticon, and not one of his usual patients. "But it really would be in your best interest to finish it sooner rather than later. I can also help you patch the damaged line in your arm, if you'd like."

"What?"

"You're leaking energon from your arm. It's not a serious leak, but you'll probably want to take care of it anyway."

Oh, right. Ironhide had forgotten about that.

Ratchet stepped closer to the Decepticon, forming his hand into a flashlight so he could examine the injury. Ironhide held out his arm, letting the medic inspect whatever he wanted.

"Hmm. It isn't healing in the right place," Ratchet noted. "That's why it tears so easily."

Ironhide stood still as Ratchet scanned the area again, preparing to repair it with a small soldering device that was built into his hand. To Ratchet's surprise, the Decepticon did not even flinch when the hot solder contacted his damaged arm.

It only took a few moments for Ratchet to reposition and solder the energon line, and Ironhide seemed visibly relieved when it was done.

"Thank you," Ironhide said, stepping back and flicking his arm.

"No problem," the medic replied, running some internal diagnostics on his own systems. He had not expected to make it through Barricade's assault, and the fact that he had survived due to the actions of another Decepticon made it even more remarkable.

Ratchet terminated the diagnostic, looking back at the mech who had essentially saved him. "So..." he began uncertainly, "what happens now?"

Ironhide glanced at the medic curiously. "What now?"

Ratchet nodded.

The black mech thought about it. "Well, if I can get into the control room and disable the radar, there's a good chance that you could get out of here without anyone noticing."

Ratchet looked at the Decepticon in disbelief. "You would help me escape?"

Ironhide nodded.

"Why?" the medic asked.

"Because no one else is going to do it." Ironhide shifted his weight, changing the subject. "Will you wait here?"

"Of course," Ratchet answered. Then he asked tentatively, "Are you going to come back?"

"Yes, I'll come back," Ironhide assured him. "Just stay here until I do. This is the safest place to be."

"I will," Ratchet promised, halfway surprised that he meant it.

"Okay. See you in a little bit."

"Okay."

Then Ironhide turned and left, closing the steel door behind him and leaving the Autobot alone once again.

Ratchet just hoped it would not be for long.


	13. Chapter 13

Ratchet looked around the unfamiliar room that he now found himself standing alone in. It was hard to believe how different his current situation was compared to that of just a few joors ago. Oh, how quickly things changed...

The Autobot medic never would have guessed that he would have ended up here, roaming freely in what appeared to be some sort of Decepticon laboratory, nor would he have _ever_ thought that he would trust a Decepticon to _any_ extent, let alone actually be looking forward to a certain one returning.

He picked up a beaker of silver-white liquid, idly inspecting the crystalline structure of tiny particles in it.

Ironhide was either different than most Decepticons, or Ratchet was terribly gullible and far too trusting for his own good. He set the beaker back down on the counter where he had gotten it from.

But the more the chartreuse Autobot thought about it, the more certain he was that Ironhide was not deceiving him. After all, what could the weapons specialist possibly gain from such an endeavor?

If anything, Ratchet was a liability. Having him around was only going to slow Ironhide down, putting the Decepticon at a disadvantage.

Then why did the black mech care either way? Why not just leave Ratchet to his fate?

Ratchet suspected that he knew the answer, and that it had to do with Ironhide's true personality, but only time would tell if the medic was right. It might be apparent by the time they left Kaon.

/* * */

Ironhide knew exactly where he was headed, and he did not intend to waste any time getting there. He moved through the labyrinth of empty corridors quickly, yet cautiously. Yes, it was the night shift, and that along with the mission on Trypticon Station meant it was unlikely that anyone else would be around, but the weapons specialist was still careful. The last thing he needed was to be noticed by anyone.

_Nothing like having your own kind shooting at you to keep things interesting_ , Ironhide thought sarcastically as he peaked around the corner, making sure the hallway was clear before he proceeded. _Better not sneak up on me..._

The black mech twirled his cannons, as if reassuring himself that they still functioned. He had been without the use of his signature weapons for so long that it almost seemed like a foreign idea to have ranged self-defense available as an option.

But it was an option that Ironhide was pleased to have back.

He stopped in front of an inconspicuous door, keying-in the entry code. The door opened with an audible chime and Ironhide stepped inside.

At least his Decepticon access codes were still working. Apparently no one had had the foresight to change them when he was captured. Another 'oversight' on Starscream's part, perhaps... It seemed like they were becoming more and more frequent lately. However, Ironhide was not going to complain about it this time because for once had proven to be a convenience.

Quickly surveying the control room, Ironhide was relieved to see that it was just as empty as the hallways were. He did not have to worry about what he was going to say if someone caught him here, tampering with the equipment. That would have been a hard one to explain, especially since he had absolutely no business being in the room right then.

Ironhide moved to one of the terminals, contemplating exactly how he was going to do this. He was not particularly skilled with computer networks, but he knew just enough to be able to royally mess with things. The only problem was that he had to do it without drawing anyone else's attention. If the terminal detected a fault... well, then someone else might, too.

"Hmm." Ironhide pondered his dilemma for a moment more, finally concluding that it might be better to disable the system while also creating some kind of distraction. That might give him and Ratchet more time to escape.

Now, where was the main circuit breaker box...

Ironhide checked the floor, looking for the large removable panel that usually housed such things. Once he found it, he removed the the top cover and then randomly started switching out fuses.

Eventually, some of the circuits would draw enough power to start blowing the fuses or tripping the breakers. That would shut off the terminals and effectively disable the—

"Frag!" Ironhide pulled his hand away as one of the circuits shocked him. It had been a fairly decent jolt, arcing across two of his fingers when he leaned carelessly against some electronics. He flicked his hand a few times, trying to get the tingly feeling to go away.

That was enough of that... Ironhide replaced the panel on the breaker box, stepping away. At least what he did should be enough to disable the radar—or rather, the system that allowed anyone to monitor it. He would just wait a few breems to see if his modifications worked.

Ironhide logged-in to a terminal, simultaneously opening a secure comm link and broadcasting a message on a channel that he knew only the Autobots would be monitoring.

"Autobot base, this is Decepticon Commander Ironhide. Verify receipt of transmission."

He did not have to wait very long for a reply.

_"We can hear you, Commander Ironhide,"_ a gruff voice answered. _"What is this about?"_

Ironhide checked the radar map, pleased to see that the feedback was indeed scrambled. "I have some information that would be of great interest to you."

_"And what would that be?_ "

"Perhaps the whereabouts of a certain Autobot field medic," Ironhide replied. "Real bright paint. Been missing for three orns or so, correct?"

There was a pause on the other end of the connection.

_"How do we know you aren't lying? Let us speak to him."_

"He's not here right now, so either you believe me or you don't."

Another pause. _"Very well, Commander. What is it that you want in exchange?"_

"I will contact you with further instructions. Stand by until then." Ironhide cut the connection, turning around to head back the way he came.

Then searing pain blazed across his right shoulder, knocking the weapons specialist into a terminal. He quickly regained his footing and spun around, cannons leveled and warming up as he looked for the mech that had shot at him.

The mech was standing in the opposite doorway.

Ironhide growled. "Shockwave..."

"Ironhide." The scientist was also aiming his weapon, clearly aware of Ironhide's subterfuge.

"What in the Pit do you think you're doing?" Ironhide snapped angrily, spinning his cannons. He was _not_ in the mood for this right now.

"I could ask you the same," Shockwave replied coolly, "but that would not be a productive use of time."

Ironhide growled again. "Then leave me be."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Shockwave responded, forming his hand into a different kind of weapon. "I have protocols to follow."

"So do I," Ironhide rumbled back, very subtly shifting into a more defensive stance. "The only difference is mine weren't written by someone else."

"That is irrelevant." Suddenly Shockwave fired, hitting Ironhide in the chest. The black mech stumbled sideways, hissing at the renewed injury to his arm when he struck the terminal again, but he stayed on his feet.

Shockwave moved a little closer. "Consider that your final warning, Ironhide. Stand down and come with me."

Ironhide did not respond verbally, but instead quickly aimed and fired his own weapon at the former colleague.

Shockwave dodged the shot easily, noting that Ironhide's injury was affecting his ability to hit a target. The scientist switched weapons again, this time to something that should swiftly bring the larger mech down.

But Ironhide was expecting it, and he darted to the side just before the blast would have hit his good arm. He needed to be able to fire at least one weapon, so he moved into a position that would allow him to guard his uninjured side.

Shockwave stopped for a moment, likely recalculating his strategy. Ironhide also reanalyzed the situation, deciding that it was time to make a break for the exit before he was no longer able to.

It was almost as if Shockwave had seen Ironhide's moment of decision, because he immediately fired.

Ironhide fired back and leapt into the hallway as the shot grazed his side, simultaneously hitting one of the terminals which erupted in a shower of sparks. He just caught a glimpse of Shockwave getting hit by his shot before he quickly shut the door to the control room, locking it with an override code that he knew the scientist would not have.

Then the black Decepticon staggered into the wall, leaning against it for support.

Unlike Prowl, Shockwave had not bothered moderating the amount of energy that his weapon would discharge. Ironhide got the full force of the blast, and even though it had only nicked him, he was having more trouble dealing with the side effects now than he had before.

"Frag," he choked out as everything around him seemed to spin in a dizzying way. He put a hand on the wall, trying to steady himself, but it did not help and he quickly collapsed onto his hands on knees.

/* * */

Ratchet was getting anxious the longer he waited. It had not been _that_ long, maybe a half joor at most, but it seemed like an eternity because he did not know how much longer he would be waiting.

When should he suspect that something might have happened to Ironhide? Perhaps he should go look for him...

No, he should wait. Ironhide had told him to stay. And besides, he would not know where he was going. He could easily get lost trying to find the weapons specialist.

He just needed to be patient, and get his mind on something else.

To help pass the time, Ratchet decided to analyze the energon that Ironhide had given him. The medic did not doubt that Ironhide meant him no harm, but rather he did not trust the energon supplies that the Decepticons were using. Who knew what kinds of contaminants might be floating around in it...

The chartreuse Autobot removed the IV bag from where Ironhide had taped it to his shoulder, then he disconnected the line from his hand and gathered a small amount of energon from the tip of the needle. He set the bag and tubing aside, his energon levels being high enough now that he did not really need the drip any longer.

Ratchet then proceeded to analyze the sample by scanning it with a small device that he had pulled from subspace. Energon detectors were not only used for detecting the presence of energon, as their name suggested—they were also capable of determining the basic properties of an energon sample.

And according to the readout, although the energon was not quite as pure as what the Autobots' used, it was safe to consume...

Ratchet startled at the sound of the door opening while he had his back to it. He silently feared that the mech entering was not Ironhide, even though the weapons specialist had told him that this was a safe place.

The medic turned just in time to see Ironhide stumble awkwardly into the room. The black mech was barely able to keep his balance, and he would have fell to the floor had he not grabbed onto the edge of the table.

"What happened?" Ratchet quickly moved to Ironhide's side, but the Decepticon waved him away.

"Stun blast," Ironhide bit out between panted vents, steadying himself a little. "It will... wear off... eventually." He shuddered, tightening his grip on the table with one hand and clutching his side with the other. "Frag!"

Ratchet paused. There was not much he could do for the pained warrior, other than try to comfort him. But then again, Ironhide did not seem like the type of mech that would need or want comforting. It might be better to just stand by as the effects of the stun blast ran their course.

"Fraggin' imbeciles," Ironhide spoke again. "Think they can do whatever they want."

Ratchet blinked at the Decepticon's sudden and unexpected change in subject. He was not really sure what Ironhide was referring to, but he was glad to see that the weapons specialist seemed to be recovering. "Are you doing all right?" he asked.

"Fine," Ironhide answered. "Shockwave is going to be feeling it a lot more than me, that's for sure."

"Shockwave is here?" Ratchet asked. He had heard a lot of stories about that ruthless scientist, and many of them were frightening enough to scare even the bravest of mechs.

"Yeah." Ironhide seemed to pick up on Ratchet's unease, because then he added, "You don't have anything to be concerned about. This place is like a fortress."

"Where exactly are we?"

"This is my weapons lab."

Ratchet shifted his weight nervously. "Couldn't someone find us here?"

"It's possible," Ironhide conceded, "but unlikely. Especially since we won't be staying."

The medic's gaze sharpened at that, a mixture of relief and worry visible on his faceplates. "Where are we going?"

Ironhide turned around, motioning toward the door. "Follow me."


	14. Chapter 14

To the Autobot medic, it all looked the same. The walls, the doors, everything... At least he could take some comfort in the fact that the mech he was with knew where they were going.

"Ironhide?" Ratchet asked, following the black Decepticon through even more unfamiliar and slightly eerie abandoned hallways. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can _ask_ anything," Ironhide said, turning to head down yet another identical-looking corridor. "Doesn't mean I have to answer it."

Well, it was worth a shot... Ratchet caught up to the slightly larger mech. "The other Decepticon, Barricade?"

"What about him?"

"He said you attacked two Autobots," the medic stated carefully, walking just behind Ironhide. "I just want to know, is that true?"

Ironhide paused, seeming to think about it, though perhaps he was just checking the hallway for any signs of danger. "I suppose it is. I didn't mean for it to happen that way, I just... I don't know. It happened so fast."

Then the black mech moved forward at the quick pace he had been using ever since they left the weapons lab, leaving Ratchet slightly behind again. The medic jogged to catch up to him.

"Can I ask who they were?"

Ironhide came to a stop, turning toward Ratchet but looking at the floor absently, as if deep in thought. "Bulkhead, the stocky green mech," the Decepticon finally answered. "And the other one was..."

When several seconds passed and Ironhide did not continue, Ratchet prompted him. "Who was the other one?"

The weapons specialist pondered it for a few more seconds, but then shook his head. "I don't remember." Then the black mech stepped back, seeming to recall something. "No, wait. It was Prowl. The enforcer."

"Bulkhead and Prowl?"

"Yeah. It wasn't personal."

"Are they all right?" Ratchet asked, visibly concerned. "I mean, you wouldn't... You didn't..."

Ratchet trailed off, inclining Ironhide to continue the conversation even as the weapons specialist began briskly walking down the hallway again. "Didn't what?"

The Autobot fell into step behind him but seemed hesitant to continue speaking, giving Ironhide a clue as to what the other mech was trying to ask.

"No, I didn't permanently offline any of your friends if that's what you're wondering."

Ratchet sighed almost inaudibly in relief. "I'm glad to hear that."

Ironhide said nothing, just continuing along the corridor. He kept his weapons on standby as a precaution even though they had still not seen anyone yet.

"Yeah," the weapons specialist eventually said. "Prowl will be fine by now, I'm sure, but I don't really know about Bulkhead. I threw him down but I'm not sure if I hit him or not."

"Bulkhead is a tough mech," Ratchet replied, detecting what he thought was a trace of guilt or regret in the Decepticon's voice. "I'm sure he's all right."

"Hmm." Then Ironhide fell silent again, only his footsteps echoing on the bare metal floor.

Ratchet stayed a few paces behind him, contemplating whether or not he had understood the situation right. Ironhide did not really seem concerned either way now...

Suddenly the black mech stopped. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Ratchet asked, speaking more softly than he normally would but not quite in a whisper.

"You didn't hear it?"

"No..."

"Listen." Ironhide stood completely still, and the medic heard it then.

Someone was coming. Actually, more than one. Ratchet could just barely make out the sound of two indistinct voices.

Primus, Ironhide had good hearing...

"Get behind me," the weapons specialist ordered, moving to stand on the other side of Ratchet since the sound had come from down the hall, where they had already been.

"What are we going to do now?" Ratchet asked, not knowing what to expect.

"Nothing, if they don't see us."

"And if they do?"

"Then do as I say." Ironhide powered up one of his cannons, positioning himself against the wall. Ratchet also moved to the wall, getting increasingly nervous as the voices, and footsteps, grew louder.

"—so what does that have to do with us?" one of the Decepticons stated, sounded irritated. "I mean, it's not _our_ problem. If anything, it will just make things easier."

"How do you figure that?" the other replied.

Ratchet did not recognize the voices, but Ironhide did. He quietly whispered to the Autobot, "Get out of here." Then, spinning the cannon he had powered up, he aimed at the far side of the corridor.

The Decepticons continued talking, getting dangerously close. "Well, think of it this way—"

Then the inevitable happened. As the two Decepticons rounded the corner, they spotted Ratchet and Ironhide. Drawing their weapons, they aimed at Ironhide.

"Well, Knock Out, it looks like it is our problem now," the burly blue mech said. "You take care of the Autobot, and I'll handle Ironhide."

"You best stay where you are, Breakdown," Ironhide warned.

"Says the _former_ commander." Breakdown laughed. "I don't have to listen to you anymore."

Ironhide bared his denta, all but snarling at the other mech's snide remarks.

"Oh yeah?" Breakdown jeered, provoking him. "You think that—"

"Breakdown!" Knock Out snapped angrily. "Stop playing games!"

"Shut you mouth, Knock Out!" Ironhide barked at the Decepticon medical officer.

"Ooh..." Knock Out drawled, a smirk appearing across his face. "Sounds like someone's getting upset..."

"I said can it!"

"Or are you just trying to look tough in front of your new Autobot friend?"

Ironhide had had enough. He spun his cannons in open frustration, his voice dangerously low as he glared at the red and silver mech. "Leave him out of this."

"What for?" Knock Out pressed, being one to ignore even the most blatant of hints. "You wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for him, would you?"

"Are you an Autobot now?" Breakdown jumped in. "Traitor!"

"I'm not one of them!"

"It's funny you say that," Knock Out replied, "because all you've been doing is talking. Losing your touch already, Ironhide?"

Ironhide growled, leveling his weapon. "I'll show you who's 'losing his touch'!"

"Breakdown, deal with him!"

"With pleasure." Breakdown transformed one hand into a hammer, then charged toward Ironhide.

The weapons specialist spent about a second calculating his strategy, and although Breakdown was a more immediate threat, Ironhide chose to first fire at Knock Out. The Decepticon medic thought he could try sneaking past him by using Breakdown as a distraction, but Ironhide was not going to let that happen. He fired at the red mech, hitting him in the arm.

"You imbecile!" Knock Out yelled. "You'll pay for that!"

Ironhide did not even have a chance to respond before Breakdown was on top of him, trying to knock him to the floor. The weapons specialist tried to keep his back against the wall, to prevent Breakdown from throwing him off balance.

Only then did Ironhide notice that the Autobot had stepped back, but did not leave. He yelled over his shoulder, "Ratchet, go! Now!"

The chartreuse medic hesitated for another astrosecond, then took off down the hallway.

Ironhide yelped in pain as Breakdown's hammer slammed into his abdominal plating, knocking him away from the wall. The weapons specialist managed to fire a shot at the blue mech's chest, but Breakdown's thick armor was akin to that of Ironhide, making the plasma cannon a less than ideal weapon. It probably did not do more than sting... Ironhide silently cursed that fact that Shockwave had hit his left side, damaging his energy rocket launcher.

"Knock Out!" Breakdown yelled, grabbing Ironhide's wrists. "Help me hold him!"

"What about the Autobot?" Knock Out asked, paying more attention to his damaged paint than Breakdown.

"Don't worry about him!" Breakdown grunted, struggling to control the weapons specialist. "We'll get him later!"

Knock Out shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"Just get your aft over here!"

"I'm coming! Primus, don't blow a fuse," Knock Out huffed, entering the fray. Breakdown and Ironhide were locked in a heated battle, each trying to gain an advantage over the other. Ironhide was clearly at a disadvantage, using only one of his weapons on occasion but relying more heavily on melee attacks, a strategy that was not very effective against mechs like Breakdown. Knock Out decided to attack Ironhide's left side, capitalizing on the damage that was already there.

Ironhide spun around at the sudden onslaught, lashing out at the smaller Decepticon with a fierceness that Knock Out had never seen before. The medic wisely backed off, but stayed in front of Ironhide to distract him while Breakdown attacked from behind.

Ironhide grunted at the impact when he hit the floor, knocked off balance by a swift blow from Breakdown's hammer. Then Breakdown jumped him, pressing his considerable weight onto Ironhide's shoulder blades.

"Get the frag off me!" Ironhide bellowed, trying to twist around.

"Knock Out, grab that arm," Breakdown ordered. "Get him on his back."

"I'm on it," the medic replied, being no stranger to controlling hostile Decepticons.

Together, the two mechs forced the thrashing weapons specialist onto his back, pinning his arms above his head. Breakdown straddled him, putting most of his weight on Ironhide's chest and limiting the amount of air that the weapons specialist could intake, forcing him to lie still.

"So are you ready to give in?" Breakdown asked the defenseless mech.

Ironhide was venting hard, obviously weary but his gaze hardened as he addressed the blue warrior. "I never give in."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Breakdown countered. Then, turning to Knock Out, "Come on. Let's get him up."

Ironhide did not resist as Breakdown slid off of him and hauled him to his feet, the blue mech keeping a firm grip on his arm and a stabilizer bar in his back. Knock Out only held Ironhide's other arm, letting Breakdown do most of the lifting.

Their first mistake.

Ironhide twisted in Breakdown's grip, kicking Knock Out and hurtling the small mech into the wall with a surprised yelp.

Then he rounded on Breakdown with a savage attack, slamming him into the opposite wall. Breakdown managed to get a shot off, hitting Ironhide's armor, but Ironhide did not feel it. He threw the mech to the floor and then quickly transformed and sped off.

"Lord Megatron!" Knock Out called out over a private comm link even as he and Breakdown scrambled to pursue the fugitive. "Ironhide is escaping! Secure the building immediately!"

_"Let him go."_

Knock Out stopped in his tracks, looking at Breakdown in confusion. "What? Lord Megatron—"

_"You heard me,"_ the Lord High Protector growled. _"I said let him go."_

Breakdown looked completely baffled but also gave up the chase, saying to Knock Out, "Well, if that's what the boss wants..."

Knock Out hoped that his own befuddlement would not seep through the comm link.

"As you wish, my liege."

/* * */

Ironhide had thought that he was being pursued, but then it seemed as if Knock Out and Breakdown had just stopped.

The weapons specialist did not stop moving, just in case he was wrong, but now that last hit from Breakdown was starting to sting. Ironhide transformed, deciding that he had probably put enough distance between himself and them. He put a hand over the burn on his side, not that it did anything to relieve the pain.

Walking down the hallway, Ironhide looked for Ratchet. He did not see the mech anywhere, and so he began systematically checking every hallway and unlocked room that he came across. Nothing.

Where would the Autobot have gone?

Ironhide silently chided himself for not thinking earlier that he should have given Ratchet the address code for his comm link. Then the medic would have at least had a way to contact him...

Ironhide arrived at point where the hallway branched off into two smaller hallways. He pondered it for a moment, then arbitrarily decided to go left.

After taking only a few steps, he spotted a flash of yellow out of the corner of his optic. Turning toward it, he found that it was the yellow-green of none other than the Autobot medic. Ironhide let out a soft sigh of relief.

Ratchet was in his vehicle mode, backed into a corner. He appeared unharmed, and transformed upon Ironhide's approach.

"Are they gone?" the medic asked.

"For now," Ironhide responded, visually checking the mech for any damage. "But we should leave here as soon as we can. Were you hit?"

"No, I'm fine."

The Autobot sounded a little shaken, but Ironhide did not see any injuries on him. "Okay," the weapons specialist replied, encouraging the medic to move forward. "Let's go."


	15. Chapter 15

"You sure this is a good idea, OP?" Jazz asked, looking at the maps again. He never knew that tunnels even existed under Kaon, but he was pretty sure that if he had, he would have never suggested going into them.

Optimus Prime could understand the Jazz's concern, however it was the least-riskiest plan that anyone had come up with.

"This is the most discreet way to get into the city. Prowl has indicated that he supports the idea."

"It's just that's an awfully tight space," the silver minibot pointed out. "We won't have any room to move around like we would above ground."

"You are correct, Jazz, but I believe that not drawing attention to ourselves will be of greater importance during this particular mission. Otherwise, we could easily find ourselves outnumbered if it turns into a fight."

"Has anyone heard anything else from Ironhide?" Jazz asked.

Optimus shook his head. "We have not heard from him since his first communique."

"Why don't we try contacting him first? Maybe he'd help us," Jazz suggested. "Or at the very least, we might find out if we even need to be planning this right now."

Jazz did not even want to _think_ like that, but it was a real possibility and it had to be considered since more lives could be at stake...

"A worthwhile idea, if it were not for the security measures in place around the city," Optimus explained. "We cannot securely contact Ironhide. He would need to contact us."

"So... that means we're really doing this?"

"Yes. We are going to infiltrate Kaon."

/* * */

Ratchet almost could not believe that they had made it outside. He could also honestly say that he had never been so happy to feel his paint being bombarded by solar radiation.

If it meant he was out of that Decepticon prison, he would gladly take it.

They had all but sprinted out of the building, and now Ironhide was leading him along a road that would take them out of the city of Kaon. Ratchet was staying close behind the weapons specialist so he would not get separated from him again. The last thing he wanted was to get lost here, in the middle of Decepticon territory. An Autobot medic would not exactly blend in, especially not in broad daylight...

But with Ironhide escorting him, no one questioned Ratchet's presence and the medic found that he had been inadvertently granted a rare opportunity to observe a society that he did not usually get to see. Not from this perspective, anyway.

Ratchet had always assumed that the Decepticons were unlike his kind—usually, the difference was exceedingly obvious—but Ironhide had blurred those lines, and now the Decepticons that passed by Ratchet were doing the same.

Contrary to the medic's expectations, they did not try to terminate him, nor did they seem predisposed to violence at all. Granted, they appeared to prefer more aggressive styling with sharp edges and dark colors, and they somehow carried themselves differently, but other than that they were just mechs going about their business.

Maybe Ironhide was not so different from other Decepticons, but rather the Decepticons that Ratchet and the the rest of the Autobots usually dealt with were not typical. Maybe it was the position of power that Ironhide had achieved that was unusual for a mech like him.

Ratchet did not know why that would be. Ironhide seemed to be completely competent, and he had indeed earned his high rank.

Ratchet then noticed that at some point during his musings, he had fallen a little bit behind Ironhide. The Autobot increased his speed, his tires gripping the road easily, and he noted that Ironhide had not slowed down at all. Apparently, the Decepticon was not going to wait for him.

But Ratchet was not flustered by that in any way. He knew he could keep up, and Ironhide must have known it as well.

The weapons specialist had been unusually silent for a while now, having previously been telling Ratchet what turn they were going take next or what direction they were heading. Ratchet did not really want to ask about it, since he was not sure if there was some reason for Ironhide to be maintaining radio silence. He did believe that the weapons specialist would tell him if there was something he needed to know about.

Ratchet watched idly as Ironhide turned the next corner. The black mech took it a little sharper than he should have, hitting the curb with a squeal of his tires. Ratchet glided easily around the same corner, watching the Decepticon more closely to see if it was an isolated incident or something that he should be concerned about. Ironhide had so far been pretty good about not doing anything that would draw any attention to them.

The weapons specialist drove steadily for another klik or so before he faltered again, drifting partially off the road and then swiftly correcting himself. Ratchet decided to throw caution to the wind as he reached out to the mech over the radio. _"Ironhide?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Can we pull over somewhere?"_

Ironhide paused before answering. _"Yeah."_ Then the black mech turned onto a side street, eventually coming to a stop at an old refueling station. He parked under the overhang.

Ratchet pulled up next him, transforming.

"What do you need?" Ironhide asked, staying in vehicle mode.

"It's not what I need. It's what you need," Ratchet said even as he did a medical scan on the mech. Ironhide transformed as soon as it was done.

"What do you mean?"

Ratchet did not bother with an explanation, knowing that Ironhide was just as aware of what he needed as Ratchet was. The medic retrieved a cube of energon from subspace, handing it to the other mech. "Here. Drink this."

Ironhide looked a little bemused. "Where'd you get that?"

"You left it in the lab. I thought it might come in handy."

Ironhide accepted it tentatively. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the medic replied, glad that Ironhide had taken the energon. "Thank you for helping me."

The weapons specialist glanced at him but said nothing, almost as if he was not sure what to say. Ratchet looked aside, to take any pressure off the mech.

It was funny, Ratchet thought. Ironhide seemed like the type of mech that would always do everything to the best of his ability, and yet he did not know how to respond if someone actually thanked him for it.

"You don't need to thank me," the Decepticon finally responded.

"Yes, I do," Ratchet answered. "Whether you need it or not, I want you to know."

"If it pleases you," was all Ironhide said in reply. He finished the cube of energon, and turned toward the road.

"Ratchet, I—"

Suddenly, the sound of a distant explosion caught Ironhide's attention. The weapons specialist glanced in the direction of the sound, narrowing his crimson optics and trying to pinpoint its origin. He would have guessed that the noise had come from somewhere on the outskirts of the city, but as he analyzed the data that his audio receptors had gathered, he was starting to think that it had come from somewhere within the city itself.

Were the Autobots there?

Ratchet had heard the noise too. "What was that?"

"I'm not sure," Ironhide replied, shifting his weight. Then he glanced at Ratchet. "We should go."

"Where are we going?"

"Past the city limits. No one will find us there."

When the Autobot hesitated, Ironhide motioned for him. "Come on."

Ratchet stepped forward, transforming when Ironhide did and following the black mech out onto the road. The medic of course kept his sensors focused on Ironhide and the immediate environment as he drove, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Had Ironhide told him the truth, or did the mech know more than he let on? Ratchet briefly debated whether or not he should even ask himself such a question. After all, Ironhide _had_ gotten him this far. What reason could the weapons specialist have to... do whatever malicious thing he might do, at this point in time? After all this trouble, when he could have so easily just left him in that cell...

Yet at the same time, Ratchet could not keep his gaze from drifting back to the Decepticon insignia on Ironhide's tailgate. What if...

What if _what_ , exactly? Ratchet knew there was no way he could predict all the possible scenarios, all the ways that things _might_ go wrong.

He just needed to let it go... Let go of the doubt...

/* * */

It was beginning to get dark outside. Ironhide turned his lights on, the bright beams cutting easily through the misty haze that had begun to form as the temperature dropped. Ratchet followed suit, but also activated a defogger in response to the condensation he felt forming on his vehicle mode.

Ironhide was content to just let the moisture bead off his windshield. Like most Cybertronians, he did not really need to drive by sight—his sensors provided him with all the telemetry and speed data that he needed. And those same sensors were telling him that the Autobot was starting to lag behind.

_"Ratchet, are you keeping up okay?"_

_"Fine,"_ the medic replied. _"Your tires are just kicking up a lot of water, that's all."_

_"All right. Let me know if you have any trouble."_

_"Will do."_ Ratchet was silent after that, following from about two car lengths away.

It started to rain and Ironhide shifted his attention to the road ahead, relieved that they were mostly out of the city now. Only a few sparse buildings populated the landscape, leaving primarily open space in front of them. Ironhide, for his part, felt safer without the suffocating congestion of the inner city. He guessed that Ratchet did, too.

Speaking of Ratchet, Ironhide needed to make a call. He opened a secure comm link, monitoring the frequency for any eavesdroppers.

_"Autobots, this is Ironhide. Do you copy?"_

Only the gentle swish-swish of Ironhide's wiper blades and the steady thrum of his engine made a sound as he listened for a response.

_"We copy, Ironhide,"_ an Autobot voice finally answered. _"Been hoping you'd contact us."_

The voice sounded extremely familiar, but Ironhide just could not place it. _"Who is this?"_

_"This's Jazz,"_ the mech answered. _"Is Ratchet with you?"_

Jazz's worry was obvious, even though it was also apparent that he was trying to hide it.

_"Yes, he's with me,"_ the weapons specialist replied.

_"Is he all right?"_

Out of habit, Ironhide checked on Ratchet before answering. _"He's fine. We're heading out of Kaon now."_

_"Okay."_ Jazz sounded relieved. _"What do you want from us?"_

_"I want you to send only one mech to these coordinates."_ Ironhide transmitted the appropriate data. _"You can pick up the medic there."_

_"When?"_

" _As soon as you're able to. We'll be there within the joor."_

_"Scrap,"_ Jazz cursed lightly. _"Okay. All our ships are kinda tied up right now, but I'll send one as soon as I can."_

_"Do you have an ETA on that ship?"_ Ironhide asked.

Jazz sighed in frustration. _"Three joors would be about the minimum."_

_"Understood. We'll be waiting."_

Ironhide terminated the connection, checking again on Ratchet. The medic was still a few car lengths behind him, but had not drifted any farther.

They continued to drive in silence, heading northeast through the pouring rain.

The city was definitely behind them now, having been replaced by a barren and rocky wilderness. As they got closer to the coordinates, Ironhide radioed the medic.

_"Ratchet, we're going to be stopping soon. About a klik away from our current location."_

_"Why are we stopping?"_

_"Because I contacted your friends. They're expecting you."_

Ratchet was silent. _"You contacted them?"_

_"Yes,"_ Ironhide replied, _"about twenty breems ago."_

Ratchet was of course glad to hear that, but for some reason the first thing that came out of his vocal processor was, _"How did you get a signal out?"_

The question sounded skeptical in a way that Ratchet had not intended, but if Ironhide noticed, he did not say anything about it. The black mech just kept driving, and answered as if he was simply reminding Ratchet of a trivial fact. _"I'm a Decepticon, remember?"_

Of course. That meant he could circumvent their security measures.

Ratchet was not sure why he had not asked earlier if Ironhide could contact the Autobots. He guessed that he had somehow been afraid, worried that Ironhide would not have helped him and thereby confirmed all of the suspicions that Ratchet had. It had been so much easier to just assume that everything was as it seemed, rather than risk finding out that it was not...

Ironhide came to a stop in front of a large, rocky slope, the heavy rain pounding against his hood and nearly drowning out the idle of his engine. Ratchet pulled up alongside him, waiting to see what the weapons specialist was going to do next.

The black mech transformed, eyeing a particular formation on the cliff face and trying to find purchase on the slippery rocks as he climbed up to it. It was not quite a cavern, but close to it. Good enough to shelter them from the rain. He stepped underneath, and shook the water off his frame.

Ratchet transformed as well, glancing around. "There's no one here," he noted from a distance, sounding more surprised than accusatory.

"No, and there won't be yet. We'll have to wait until someone comes," the weapons specialist informed him. "It could be a few joors."

Ratchet nodded his understanding, mildly discouraged but realizing that it could not be helped. He climbed the rocks to join Ironhide under the shelter. "What do we do until then?"

Ironhide gave it some thought, noting that the Autobot looked a little weary. The mech had likely not recharged since Barricade's assault, and one could hardly call that recharge. "Well, if you wanna rest, now would be the time."

"What about you?" Ratchet asked.

"I'll keep watch. Make sure no one sneaks up on us."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Ironhide insisted. "Get some rest, Ratchet. I know you need it."

The medic considered him for a moment, finally relenting. "All right."

Ironhide watched as Ratchet looked for a suitable place to recharge, eventually choosing a spot close to the rock face. The medic swept away some of the sand, and then lowered himself to the ground.

"You know, you can transform if you want," the weapons specialist suggested. "I won't be offended."

"Thanks, but it's fine," Ratchet replied. "There isn't much privacy out here like this anyway."

Ironhide grunted. "Suit yourself." Then the battle-scarred mech turned away, looking out at the dark sky.

Ratchet lied down, sighing gently and closing his optics. He briefly debated whether he would recharge lightly or deeply, and decided that he would recharge deeply. It was time to fully trust Ironhide.

Not because he had to, but because he was ready to.


	16. Chapter 16

The rain was starting to let up. Ironhide glanced at the stormy night sky, noting that the reprieve was likely only temporary. A thunderstorm was blowing in from the west, and he could feel the slight tingle of static electricity building up on his frame.

Ratchet was still in recharge, oblivious to anything going on around him. Ironhide stood up quietly, and carefully made his way down the rocks and to the desert floor below.

He did not usually like rain, but the gentle drizzle was almost soothing.

The weapons specialist walked out farther, looking at nothing in particular. The area around Kaon might be a desolate wasteland, but at least it was private. He stopped, taking a breem to appreciate the solitude. He knew that the war was still raging in Kaon, in Iacon, and pretty much everywhere else on the planet, but right then, he did not have to think about that. He could simply forget everything, if even for a moment, and be completely at ease.

He closed his optics, shutting out any visual stimuli. He wanted nothing but to feel the rain on his back.

Sometimes, he felt like he could just walk away from it all...

Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he had been fighting for too long. How long had it been, anyway?

He could not even remember. There always had been something to fight for. There always would be.

Ironhide sighed heavily, unshuttering his optics and letting that brief moment of tranquility fade into nothing. It never did last long.

"Are you trying to get struck by lightning?"

The weapons specialist turned to see Ratchet standing a short distance away. The medic's cerulean optics shone in stark contrast to Ironhide's darker red.

"No," the black mech replied.

"Then why are you out here?" Ratchet wondered, curious and concerned but not condescending.

Ironhide turned away slightly. "The ship could be arriving soon." Actually, only two joors had passed, but that was all the explanation he wanted to give.

"What ship?" The medic asked.

"They're sending a ship. The Autobots."

"Ah." Ratchet walked up to Ironhide and stood beside him, looking at the same expanse of barren land as the Decepticon was. "And they chose to send it here?"

"Not exactly," Ironhide explained. "I gave them these coordinates, and they agreed to come."

Ratchet seemed mildly surprised by that. "Even though it could be a trap?"

"Apparently, they're willing to take the risk for you."

The medic shifted his weight, answering quietly, "As are you."

Ironhide looked at him. "What?"

Ratchet did not meet his gaze right away, still staring off in the distance. "You've taken a lot of risks for me," he said in his normal tone of voice. Then he turned to face Ironhide. "Why would you sacrifice so much?"

Ironhide studied him for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"You're a field commander in one of the largest and most powerful armies on Cyberton, and yet you're willing to throw it all away."

"It's just a title. I'm not throwing anything away."

"You won't be able to return to the Decepticons," Ratchet pointed out.

"No," the weapons specialist conceded, "I won't."

"Then what are you going to do now?"

Ironhide only glanced at him uncertainly, and Ratchet had the distinct impression that he was looking at a mech who was completely and utterly lost. "Have you thought about taking your life in a different direction?" Ratchet asked.

Ironhide seemed to relax slightly, considering the medic's words. "You mean becoming an Autobot?"

"Yes, that's what I mean."

Only a few seconds passed before Ironhide responded, "I couldn't."

"Why not? It's a choice. You can be anything."

"I'm not like your kind."

Ratchet smiled a little, gently touching Ironhide on the shoulder. "You're more like us than you think."

But Ironhide pulled away from him, an unreadable emotion flickering briefly across his face. "I'm afraid I can't agree with that."

Ratchet gave the troubled mech some space, sensing that Ironhide had come here to work through his thoughts and that he still needed time to do so.

The next few breems passed in almost total silence, other than the constant thrum of rain and the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. Ratchet pondered telling Ironhide about something that he had never told anyone, something that the medic would have much rather forgotten about. Indeed, it had haunted him long after it happened. "You know," he began, remembering exactly how that dreadful orn had gone, "we've met before."

Ironhide turned his full attention to the medic. "We have?"

Ratchet nodded.

The weapons specialist seemed unable to remember. "When?"

"At the Battle of Polyhex," Ratchet detailed, watching Ironhide's reaction. "You had a cannon pointed right at my helm and then you just... turned and walked away."

Ironhide just stared blankly, completely caught off guard by that statement. He remembered that battle well, but it had happened vorns ago and he had not known the medic, had never even made the connection between that mech and Ratchet.

What could he say? He had not terminated the medic that orn because he had not had any reason to, that was all... At the time, he had hardly given it a conscious thought.

"It was nothing," Ironhide replied somewhat mutedly.

Ratchet watched him for a moment longer. "In any case, that 'nothing' was the difference between life and death for me and another mech. I just thought you should know that."

Ironhide was no less baffled. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because until now," the medic answered, "I wasn't certain that you did it out of the goodness of your spark." Then Ratchet turned around, walking back toward the shelter. "Well, I'm getting out of the rain. Pretty sure I don't need a wash anymore."

Finding himself alone once more, Ironhide was left to process his thoughts. He looked out over the bluish landscape for several long moments, but then he too turned and headed back, also deciding that it was time to get out of the rain.

/* * */

About a joor and a half passed. Ratchet had gone back to recharge, the medic's systems still being quite depleted, and Ironhide merely sat beside him. The weapons specialist was staying alert, constantly looking for any signs of Autobots or Decepticons but seeing none.

Ironhide shifted slightly. He was getting tired, but the Autobot ship could arrive at any time. Being interrupted shortly after going into recharge was almost worse than getting no recharge at all. Or at the very least, it felt worse.

Getting up quietly, Ironhide decided to go back outside. He could rest later, after the ship had gone and he had no one to look after.

He glanced back at Ratchet, who was gently cycling air and lying on his side with his optics closed. Ironhide lightly touched the medic's shoulder, waiting to see if the Autobot would wake up. When he did not, Ironhide turned around and walked out of their small shelter, into the seemingly endless open space just beyond it. Climbing down the rocks again, he found it easier now that he had some idea of where the loose spots were and where he could get a good grip.

He reached the bottom, turning his back to the cavern and looking up at the sky.

It made him feel so small, really. The cloud front that was slowly approaching seemed massive, stretching for an incalculable number of kliks in either direction. Even in the dark night sky, which had grown darker since Ironhide had last studied it, the edge of the clouds appeared slightly illuminated by the moons that were no longer visible behind them.

It was funny, when he was a youngling he used to think that he could reach those moons, if he just climbed high enough. The weapons specialist smiled slightly and shifted his attention back to the present, visually scanning his surroundings and not seeing anything but rocks, earth, and open space. He did not hear anything either, other than the downfall of rain that had gone unnoticed until this moment. Of course it had been raining the entire time—he had just automatically tuned it out. It seemed so loud now that he was actually listening to it.

Ironhide transformed, keeping most of the water out of his joints and getting ready to go on a short patrol around the immediate vicinity. He was not going to go far, and would keep the shelter well within sight. He mainly wanted something to keep himself busy and pass the time. There were not many other things to do in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night.

The black mech pulled forward, turning to the right and planning out a large circular path in his mind. If he cruised leisurely, he could complete it in about 15 breems. That was fine with him—it would keep him moving for a while, but would not take too much time.

As Ironhide drove out farther and began circling left, he noticed a ship coming from the north.

He did not hear it, but he saw it. Apparently whoever was flying the small vessel had deemed it prudent to use just enough position lights to make it visible. Ironhide stopped where he was, watching the ship until it too stopped a few hundred lengths away. It did not land, but instead hovered close to the ground.

It looked like an Autobot ship, but unfortunately that was not enough to verify whom it belonged to. Ironhide approached it carefully, arming what weapons he had available in vehicle mode and skirting the ship. The front was always the most heavily armed and the most sensitive, but Ironhide knew that the pilot would be able see him from any direction and so the black mech stopped a moderate distance from the ship's side. Then he transformed, aiming both cannons at the hull of the idling vessel.

He was of course aware of the fact that his weapons would do little to damage such a ship—it was obviously armor-plated—but his actions served to communicate to the pilot. Over the many vorns of warfare, that action had evolved into something of a symbolic gesture, an unofficial but well-understood request for another to identify himself.

The pilot responded by fading the lights on the wing on and then off, signaling to Ironhide that he was going to land and disembark.

Ironhide watched the ship touch down, then waited as a mech that appeared to be an Autobot stepped out from a hatch near the front. With all the lights off now, it was hard to see the mech very clearly. He appeared to be two-toned, with one color being white or silver and the other being something dark.

"Identify yourself," Ironhide ordered, keeping his weapons powered on.

The mech did not power up any weapons of his own, but instead answered compliantly. "Autobot Prowl."

Ironhide recognized the voice, and powered down his cannons. If the mech was aggrieved at the stun blast incident, he did not show it. "Prowl," Ironhide acknowledged, and then asked, "did you come alone?"

"Yes."

"Are you armed?"

"Of course," the Autobot responded, "as are you, but I will not use force if there is no need."

"Neither will I," Ironhide answered, shifting to stand more at-ease.

"Understood," Prowl replied. "In your last communique, you did not mention what you wanted in exchange for Ratchet's safe return."

"I don't want anything," the black mech said. "Only to be left alone."

"Indefinitely?"

"For the time being," Ironhide corrected.

Prowl nodded. "Very well. Where is Ratchet?"

"Over there." The weapons specialist indicated where. "There's a cavern on the other side of that rock face."

"Will you show me?"

"Yeah. Come on." Ironhide turned his back to the enforcer, heading toward the rocks. He could hear Prowl following him, but barely above the sound of the sudden—and almost torrential—downpour. It was starting to thunder as well.

When they made it into the cavern, Ironhide stopped near the entrance to give Prowl enough room to move around freely inside. He gestured for Prowl to step inside, and then he showed him where Ratchet lay in recharge.

"Is he all right?" Prowl asked, surprised that Ratchet had not waken up upon their approach.

"He's fine as far as I can tell."

Prowl nodded, and then walked over to the medic. He knelt beside him.

"Ratchet," Prowl called out as he gently nudged the mech's upper arm, "can you hear me?"

The touch must have startled Ratchet, because he awoke with a jerk and quickly batted Prowl's hand away.

"Easy, Ratchet," Prowl said to calm him. "It's me, Prowl."

Ratchet seemed to realize where he was then, but he still looked surprised to see his fellow Autobot. "Prowl," Ratchet almost whispered, "I thought you were Barricade. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Prowl reassured him. "We do share the same color scheme."

"Thankfully, that's all you share," Ratchet commented, glancing at Prowl and then the rest of the cavern, noticing that Ironhide was standing well out of the way by the exit and watching silently.

The medic pushed himself upright, Prowl helping him, and then he took a moment to reorient himself. His spark was still pulsing from the scare he had received, but it was returning to normal.

"How are you feeling?" Prowl asked.

Ratchet ran a diagnostic. "I've been better," he admitted matter-of-factly, "but all things considered, it's not that bad. I feel well enough."

"That's good to hear," Prowl acknowledged. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes." Ratchet turned to face Ironhide. "Ironhide, will you walk out to the ship with us?"

The Decepticon shifted. "If you wish."

"I would appreciate it," Ratchet said sincerely.

"Very well." Ironhide's gaze flickered between Prowl and Ratchet. "Let's go."

The three mechs walked out together, heading back to the ship that was still waiting to be occupied. They stopped near the hatch to the cockpit, Prowl turning to address the Decepticon.

"Ironhide, I would like to thank you for your service to the Autobots. Your actions have been truly remarkable."

Ironhide only nodded and looked away, seeming to brush it off.

Ratchet turned to Prowl, asking politely, "Prowl, would you give us a moment? I'd like to speak to Ironhide."

"Certainly." Prowl glanced at Ironhide, dipping his helm in respect before climbing into the cockpit.

When they were alone again, Ratchet spoke to the weapons specialist. "Ironhide, I just wanted to ask, if you would consider coming back to Iacon with us. I would put in a good word for you, and I'm sure Optimus would give you a chance if you wished to join us."

Ironhide shifted his weight again, appearing mildly uncomfortable. "No, I can't. There's somewhere I need to be."

Ratchet looked puzzled. "Where are you going to go?"

"Back to Kaon," Ironhide answered. "I have matters to attend to. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I understand," the medic replied, seeming to accept Ironhide's decision. "But know that if you ever change your mind, my offer still stands."

"I will remember that."

Ratchet nodded. "Okay. Then I guess this is farewell."

"I suppose it is," Ironhide concurred. "Take care of yourself, Ratchet."

"You as well." Like Prowl, Ratchet also tipped his helm courteously. "Until all are one."

"Until all are one."

And with that short exchange, Ratchet boarded the ship and departed with Prowl, leaving Ironhide alone with his thoughts. The weapons specialist stood silently for a few breems, then transformed and drove away.


	17. Chapter 17

It had stopped raining. However, the sandy terrain beneath Ironhide's tires was certainly not going to dry as fast as his vehicle mode. The weapons specialist increased his speed, scanning the ground in front of him as far as his sensors could reach as he approached the outskirts of Kaon.

The light pollution from the city was giving the atmosphere above it an almost reddish glow, despite the fact that it was still the middle of the night. Everywhere else, the sky appeared as dark as the jet-black armor that was hidden beneath a layer of dust and mud, having become quickly soiled by the dirt Ironhide's tread kicked up.

In a way, Ironhide almost wished it would start raining again. At least it would keep the worst of the grit off of him.

But that was just an annoyance, really. A distraction.

What Ironhide decided to focus on instead was what he was going to do from this point.

He had a plan. Or rather, the semblance of a plan. He was going to get to Kaon, find Megatron, and find out exactly what had happened out in the Badlands those many decaorns ago. He wanted to know the truth.

How was it possible that he have been so naive? Why had he not noticed Megatron's descent into corruption sooner? It seemed so obvious now...

But the past was the past, and he could not change it. The only thing he could do was try to prevent the same things from happening again in the future.

Maybe he would become a neutral when this was all over. Ratchet's offer notwithstanding, it was highly unlikely that the Autobot leader would want anything to do with him. And how could he know if the mech was any more trustworthy? After all, Orion Pax and Megatron had been very close colleagues, and whether Megatron wanted to admit it or not, the idea to abandon the cast system was as much Pax's as his. They thought along the same lines.

Why exactly they had split, Ironhide was not sure. Maybe he would find out one orn.

Assuming he survived this. The weapons specialist did not wish to return to the Well of AllSparks, but he knew that Megatron's fighting skills likely outweighed his own. Ironhide had sparred with the former gladiator on a few occasions, but since the fights were not serious, it was hard to know for sure. He would need to be extremely careful to make sure he did not accidentally back himself into a corner.

Ironhide accessed his data banks, bringing up a recording from one of the fights and hoping to find something he could use. Megatron's fighting style, tactics, anything...

_They faced each other in a well-lit but oddly empty arena, Ironhide already leaking energon from a handful of small cuts on his armor. Megatron's blade was sharp._

_"Do you think you can take me, Ironhide?" the former gladiator taunted him._

_Ironhide growled, shouting his own insults at the mech. "I was training before you were even sparked, youngling."_

_Megatron laughed at that. "Yes, but training in some academy is nothing like this. Here, those who fail do not survive."_

_They were not fighting to the death, although the contemptuous remarks and the viciousness of the fight often suggested otherwise. No, they would both survive this, even if a little worse for wear._

_The weapons specialist twirled his cannons, more to dissipate excess energy than anything else since this fight was limited to close-range weapons only. Unfortunately for Ironhide, that meant he was fighting unarmed._

_"Ironhide, what are you waiting for?" Megatron sneered. "Let's finish this."_

_Megatron unsheathed his blade, waiting for Ironhide to lunge at him._

_Ironhide did lunge at him, slamming into Megatron's left side and trying to knock the larger mech off balance. However, Megatron skillfully redirected the blow, throwing Ironhide to the ground instead._

_The black mech hit the dirt with a thud, landing on his back. Then Megatron was on top of him, pinning his arms and holding the edge of his blade dangerously close to Ironhide's throat. The weapons specialist kicked him, managing to free himself and quickly getting to his feet._

_Megatron wiped the energon from a cut on his torso, having been nicked by the sharp metal of one of Ironhide's injuries. "Not bad for someone your age."_

_Ironhide's vents were heaving, the fight indeed taking a toll on him but it was far from over._

_Megatron lunged at him this time, landing a heavy punch on Ironhide's chest plates before the mech could move out of the way. Ironhide retaliated, ignoring the pain of the blow and relying on a melee attack to defend himself._

_Ironhide held his own through the next round, but he was quickly tiring. He was not used to such a constant demand on his systems—rather, he tended to expend energy in bursts, fighting heavily and then backing off. It worked very well in fights that alternated between close-range and long-range combat, but it was putting him at a disadvantage here. He tried to disengage from the intense fistfight that he was currently having with Megatron, to put some distance between them._

_However, Megatron seemed to sense what Ironhide was doing and why. He let the black mech break away, only to grab onto his backstrut when he was vulnerable._

_Ironhide struggled as Megatron lifted him off the ground, the gray mech holding him in such a way that Ironhide could not fight back._

_Megatron laughed arrogantly. "Do you surrender, Ironhide?"_

_Still trying desperately to twist out of Megatron's grip, Ironhide spat. "Frag you."_

" _Very well." Megatron threw Ironhide down, unsheathing his blade a second time and driving the tip just slightly into Ironhide's chest armor, causing the weapons specialist to yelp._

" _And that is how you win a fight." Megatron retracted his blade, letting Ironhide pant as he stepped away from him. "You know, you should really work on your stamina. It would make these sparring matches much more interesting."_

_The weapons specialist rolled onto his side, using his hand to stop the trickle of energon coming from his chest. He groaned, "I'll keep that in mind."_

_Megatron held out his hand, helping Ironhide get to his feet. The black mech staggered at first but quickly regained his balance._

_"Come on," Megatron encouraged him. "Let's go see Knock Out. I don't want you losing energon all night."_

_"Especially not with the mission tomorrow," Ironhide replied, carefully removing his hand from the wound to check its severity._

_"Yes, indeed."_

But for some reason, that never stopped their sparring matches. They would fight whether or not they had any obligations the following orn, whether or not either mech's condition at the time contraindicated it.

Ironhide thought back to why he would engage in those battles so frequently, especially considering that Megatron could usually find a different sparring partner. But he seemed to wait for Ironhide, and Ironhide for him. Perhaps it was because both mechs, up until the coup de grace, would behave as if it was a real fight.

Ironhide for his part also found it to be a release. Even if he was tired, or in pain, something about those fights kept him coming back. It felt... good, somehow.

He was getting close to Kaon. There was definitely something going on—he could hear the sirens blaring throughout the city.

Ironhide skirted around the usual entry points into the city, instead heading down an abandoned alleyway. It was narrow, barely wide enough for his vehicle mode, and the wet pavement was reflecting various shades of white, red, and orange from Ironhide's lights. He turned them off, his HUD automatically switching to infrared and only the glint of his chrome stacks liable to give away his position.

Ironhide followed the alley for several blocks before he did get the feeling that he was being watched. He rolled to a stop, scanning the area around him but detecting nothing. He idled for a few more seconds, then transformed and looked around. Everything was still except for the water dripping off his armor, disturbing the fragile reflections in the puddles beneath his feet. He glanced back the way he came, making sure he was not being followed.

Then he heard a noise from somewhere in front of him. The weapons specialist spun around, powering up his cannons and preparing to face whoever might dare try to ambush him in his own base of operations.

To his surprise, it was none other than the Autobot leader. "Prime?"

"Commander," Optimus replied, knowing that most Decepticons preferred formality.

"What are you doing here?" Ironhide demanded, keeping his weapons trained on the Autobot.

Optimus's weapons were deployed as well. "I could ask you the same."

"No, you couldn't," Ironhide responded. "This is Decepticon territory. You're the one that doesn't belong here."

Optimus did not seem offended by Ironhide's tone, nor did he appear to harbor any disrespect toward him. "My apologies, Commander."

Ironhide watched him for a moment, just as surprised by Optimus's apparent sincerity as he was to see the mech there in the first place. "You can just call me Ironhide."

After what had transpired, the weapons specialist highly doubted that he was a commander anymore.

"Very well. My apologies, Ironhide." Optimus powered down his weapons, lowering his arms to his sides.

"Don't expect me to do the same," Ironhide growled, leaving his weapons fully powered.

"I did not expect you to," Optimus answered honestly, still staying where he was.

Ironhide narrowed his optics, trying to figure out what kind of game the flame-patterned mech was playing. "Then your actions were foolish."

"I think not. I know you will not shoot me."

"How could you possibly know that?" Ironhide spat.

"Because I have no intention of harming you, and I know you do not attack those whom are not a threat."

Ironhide hissed, knowing Optimus was right and secretly unnerved by the fact that the Autobot seemed to know him so well.

Optimus continued, "My medic, Ratchet, has informed me that you engineered his escape. I would like to say thank you for that."

"I owed it to him," the weapons specialist replied, "that's all."

"You mean to tell me that you were merely repaying a debt?"

"Something like that," was all Ironhide said, having no reason to admit more. Not to this mech, anyway.

"I find that hard to believe," Optimus responded, but it was not said like an accusation. Rather, it was just a statement of fact.

Ironhide shifted, spinning his cannons. "Well, take it or leave it."

"As you wish." Optimus still did not move any closer. "Either way, I am no threat to you."

"And how do I know that?"

"You have my word."

Ironhide would not usually trust any mech as far as he could throw him, at least not until the mech earned that trust, but for some reason he felt that Optimus was telling him the truth. Ironhide powered down his cannons. "I need to get through here. Move out of my way and I'll leave you be."

"I was looking for an exit point when my team and I got separated," Optimus told him. "You might want to know that the Deceptions have cordoned off a section of the city."

"Which section?" Ironhide asked, knowing that that could create a problem.

Optimus stepped forward, causing Ironhide to quickly deploy his weapons again.

"Easy," Optimus said, lifting his hands placatingly. "Can I show you the map?"

Ironhide glared at him, spinning his cannons, but then he powered them down. "Fine."

Stepping forward again, albeit more slowly this time, Optimus projected a holographic map onto the pavement, highlighting the areas that the Deceptions had blocked off.

Ironhide studied the map for a moment. "This is outdated," he said, bringing up the map from his data banks. "A lot of the access roads surrounding the perimeter aren't even on here."

"Are you familiar with them?"

"Not really," the weapons specialist answered. "I just checked the map when I came in. Never really went that way."

Ironhide overlaid his own map onto the one Optimus was projecting, then continued, "See these?" He highlighted them in red. "These are the access roads. You can bypass some of the main ones if you use these instead."

"I see." Optimus said, then pointed to a section of the map. "This is where Jazz and I ran into Decepticon warriors. We separated to help throw them off our trail, and then they blocked several of the roads to limit out movement."

"Jazz? Is he part of your team?" Ironhide asked, turning off his projection as Optimus did so.

"Yes. The only one, actually. All the others are waiting outside the city."

"Then why is it just you two here?" the black mech wondered.

"Because any more would have been too easy to detect," Optimus explained. "We had planned to maintain our cover for as long as possible."

"Ah." Ironhide turned away slightly, looking up at the top of the buildings. "I would say that the—"

Suddenly, the wall of building beside them exploded in a ball of flames, throwing the two mechs off their feet. Ironhide landed hard, looking up just in time to see a ship streak by overhead.

"Run!" Ironhide yelled as he got to feet, taking off through the smoke as soon as he made sure Optimus was following him. "Stay out of the open!"

Ironhide transformed as soon as he was clear of the debris, gunning his engine and activating a cloaking device. Then he turned down a side street, taking the corner a little too fast on the wet pavement and slamming his tailgate into the wall. Optimus took the corner more slowly, also in vehicle mode now, but then increased his speed to keep pace with Ironhide.

The weapons specialist headed toward the center of the city, where the architecture was dense enough to offer at least some protection. However, he never made it.

As soon as he risked crossing an open bridge, another explosion caused the structure underneath his tires to collapse. He fell several stories, landing on the rocks below. Optimus skidded to a stop at the base of the bridge, but was forced to retreat when the Decepticon ship rounded on him.


	18. Chapter 18

Ironhide groaned painfully. He had landed on his back, and was pretty sure he had severed some neural wires. Something about his lower frame just did not feel right.

The force of the impact had also left his vision a little blurry, but it was starting to come into focus. Glancing up, he saw only the glare of the remaining bridge lights and no signs of Optimus.

The mech must have... stayed clear of... the...

Frag!

Ironhide winced, curling in on himself as a particularly painful spasm worked its way down his frame. Then it passed, leaving him trembling and clutching his abdomen.

Scrap, he needed a medic...

His thoughts shifted to Ratchet. The chartreuse Autobot was someplace safe, and for that Ironhide was thankful, but he could not help but wish Ratchet was here now.

Not to treat his injuries, but so Ironhide would not have to go through this alone. Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted the medic's company right then.

Ironhide had always been on his own, but he had never felt it so profoundly before and the idea that he might be able to rely on someone was a relief that he did not even know he needed. Even with Optimus, the short amount of time Ironhide had spent with him just felt natural in a way that it never had before.

Ironhide shifted slightly, trying to see if he could lift himself up. Something was definitely wrong with his lower legs—they were not responding to his commands as they should have. His upper legs seemed to be functioning marginally better, although the pain signals coming from below his waist were unusually dull and diffuse, suggesting that the motor functioning in that area had been compromised to at least some extent.

Ironhide shut off what pain relays he could, carefully rolling into his side and keeping one hand firmly planted on the rocky ground for stability. He could feel cool air brushing against the still-moist energon on his back.

At least his optic sensors seemed to be fully functional now. The weapons specialist could clearly see the city's skyline as dawn approached, dull oranges and yellows radiating out from behind the distant buildings and reflecting off his black armor.

Had only that much time passed? It seemed as if the events of last night had happened decaorns ago.

_"Well, I'm getting out of the rain. Pretty sure I don't need a wash anymore."_

Ironhide had watched him leave, thinking about everything the medic had said. Was he really that much like the Autobots? And even if he was, could he ever really become one of them?

Cybertron as he originally knew it was gone. His life since then had only been the life of a Decepticon.

He had become quick to anger, easy to provoke, and had learned to turn to violence when solving problems. Those were hardly traits that the Autobots would find desirable...

Ironhide had gone back to the cavern soon after, seeking out the comfort of a familiar individual even if he felt weak because of it.

Ratchet had been partially curled into a ball on the ground, resting with his optics closed but not yet in recharge. He glanced up upon Ironhide's arrival, then pushed himself to a sitting position when the black mech appeared hesitant to walk over to him. Ratchet almost seemed able to sense that Ironhide had something on his mind, and that the weapons specialist was not sure how to talk about it.

"Is everything okay?" the medic had asked.

Ironhide did not answer, feeling a tide of conflicting emotions. He instead walked over to Ratchet and sat beside him, leaning against the wall casually even though he was far from relaxed.

Ratchet did not pressure him, simply waiting patiently for Ironhide to gather his thoughts. The weapons specialist looked away, finally asking, "Have you ever confided in someone?"

The medic shifted, turning to face him. "Yes, I have."

"Was it a friend?"

Ratchet shook his head. "Actually, no. It was Wheeljack of all mechs."

Ironhide cocked his head slightly at Ratchet's almost bemused tone of voice. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Well, Wheeljack and I aren't exactly close comrades. I'm not even sure how it happened," the medic explained. "I guess I had a bit of a breakdown, and Wheeljack just happened to be there."

Ironhide seemed to ponder that. "Wasn't that embarrassing?"

Ratchet let out a snort. "Yeah, it was. But he hasn't brought it up since, and never mentioned it to anyone else."

"So you don't typically seek him out when you have something on your mind?"

"There were a few times after that, but no, not really. We usually keep it professional."

Ironhide nodded, looking at the far wall and letting out a long vent. His weariness was more evident then, his armor held slightly lower than where he usually carried it.

"So what about you?" Ratchet asked, giving Ironhide something to say. "Do you have someone you can turn to if you just need to talk?"

Ironhide sighed. "Not really. Sometimes, after the sparring matches, Megatron would have things that he wanted to... discuss, but that was all."

Ratchet must have picked up on the subtext, because he shifted uncomfortably. "That sounds terrible."

The black mech shifted his gaze but kept it on the far wall, seeming pensive. "It is what it is."

"But you still stayed with the Decepticons," Ratchet prompted him.

"Yes," Ironhide admitted, "I did."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure," the weapons specialist responded. "I guess because that's what was expected of me."

"If I would have done what was expected of me, I would have never become an Autobot medic. Sometimes, you just need to do what feels right."

And being with the medic had felt right, but something had still drawn Ironhide back to Kaon. Perhaps part of him felt that if he did not find out what had happened, he would wonder about it for the rest of his life.

But where had it gotten him now?

Ironhide panted heavily, his cooling fans grinding to a start as he reactivated the systems that had been inadvertently shut off. Then he lifted his tired optics, glancing at the jagged rocks that spread out in all directions and separated him from what was the equivalent of a shoreline on the far side. Shifting his gaze in a different direction, he saw the cracked but still sound pillar that held a remaining portion of the bridge.

The weapons specialist felt like he could not reach either of them, he was so completely exhausted. He placed a hand over over his aching helm, shielding his optics and relaxing slightly as his systems pressured him to conserve more energy.

_"You weren't always a medic?"_

_"Primus, no. I was a tool and die maker."_

Ironhide jerked violently as the dust from a light breeze caused his fans to hitch and grind, destroying whatever amount of rest he had been getting. He groaned again, haphazardly rolling onto his hands and knees.

_"Tool and die? What is that?"_

_"I guess the easiest way to explain it would be to say it's related to manufacturing."_

_"So you used to make things?"_

_"Basically, yes."_

Frag, his frame felt so unusually heavy... Ironhide tried to push himself up, struggling against the weight of his own armor.

_"Then how did you become a medic?"_

The black Decepticon managed to haul himself to a sitting position, not trusting himself to be able to stand. His helm still felt like it was in a vise and basically every other part of his frame ached too, but he did his best to ignore it. He blinked, looking around, his attention drawn to the bridge again as some of the reinforcing cables far above whipped in the wind, striking the concrete pillars. What a waste.

_"Well, when the war began, most manufacturing switched to munitions."_

_"And you didn't want to work in munitions?"_

Ironhide shuttered his optics for a moment, venting deeply and trying to still his thoughts enough so he could focus for a half a breem.

_"Not really, no. I used to study life science in my free time, and the closest thing to it was medicine."_

Ironhide's processor did not seem to want to stop, racing wildly as it tried to make sense of the overwhelming amount of conflicting data it was receiving from his systems and the environment, while also running a host of preprogrammed survival protocols and diagnostic scans. Ironhide was given less conscious control over its processes, much like during recharge.

_"So you retrained as a field medic?"_

_"Yes, I did."_

The weapons specialist opened his optics, feeling the wind on his back again and being reminded of where he was. That was when he noticed a large gash on his upper thigh, leaking energon quite profusely. He covered it with his hand, trying to stem the flow.

_"And you don't regret it?"_

Ironhide engaged his plasma cannon, powering it up to take a shot.

_"No, I don't regret anything."_

He fired.

Searing pain tore across Ironhide's leg, causing the black mech to let out a strangled cry as it burned into the wound he had been previously protecting. He drew in several large vents of air, his optics shuttered tightly as he waited for the worst of the pain to subside.

He had barely done more than graze the armor, aiming the shot so it would penetrate just deep enough to cauterize the leaking energon line, but it still hurt like the Pit.

Ironhide carefully lowered himself to the ground, resting his helm for a moment.

"Well, well. If it isn't Ironhide."

Ironhide startled at the sudden address, opening his optics to see who had spoken to him but blinking as his visual feedback blurred into an hazy mix of indistinguishable colors.

"Fancy meeting you here," the voice continued, Ironhide finally registering its owner.

Megatron.

Ironhide shifted, wincing as he sat up and leaned too much weight into his right leg. "You say that as if you were just out for a stroll," the black mech retorted, his voice strained but dripping with contempt. "We both know you're not here to chat, so why don't you skip the pleasantries?"

"Ah, brutal honesty," Megatron replied, nonplussed and acting as if Ironhide had not just intended to insult him. "That was part of the reason why I wanted you on my team in the first place."

Ironhide watched him warily, his vision finally sliding into focus as he tried to keep Megatron in his field of view, the silver warlord circling him like a hunter sizing up its prey.

"However," Megatron continued, "I was starting to suspect that you would become more trouble than you were worth."

"So what? you planned to have me offlined in the middle of the desert?"

"Hardly," the larger mech replied, waving his hand dismissively. "That was an unfortunate accident, but one that would not have happened had you been following orders."

Ironhide blinked. "What?"

"You had your orders," Megatron growled, "and you chose not to follow them. Now I have to deal with you much sooner than I would have liked."

Megatron grabbed the weapons specialist by one arm, lifting the injured mech into the air with a single swift movement.

Ironhide kicked at him, although the action was pathetically weak. "Let me go!"

"What for? You're the one who came back here," his captor mocked. "And I knew you would. That's why I didn't even bother pursuing you when you left Kaon."

Ironhide fired blindly, managing to hit Megatron in the shoulder. However, the gray mech only laughed.

"I see you still have some fight left in you, Ironhide," Megatron purred. "Let's see how much..." He lashed out at his subordinate, who could not react fast enough to avoid the blow.

Ironhide cried out in pain as Megatron's clawed fingers sliced across the plating of his right optic, energon immediately leaking from the wound. He struggled to get loose, but Megatron's grip was unrelenting.

"You remember our sparring matches, don't you?"

Ironhide said nothing, venting hard and still trying to squirm out of the other mech's grasp.

"You were always too predictable, letting your misguided principles get in the way of winning. Just like the Autobots," Megatron hissed. "So tell me, are you going to fight helplessly like them or surrender while you still have some dignity?"

Ironhide snarled, Megatron now holding both his arms. "I'm not telling you fraggin' anything!"

"All right then..." The Decepticon leader transformed, taking off into the sky, Ironhide with him.


	19. Chapter 19

Ironhide was slammed onto the berth, Megatron pinning him by the throat as Breakdown and Knock Out quickly secured his extremities.

The weapons specialist had been all but dragged to Kaon's primary med bay, any relief that he may have felt from the familiar environment now nullified by the fact that he was being treated as hostile and held against his will. If only he had not been so weak, maybe he could have put up a better fight. Maybe he was just not as strong of a mech as he thought he was...

Primus, he had been foolish enough to come back here. What in the Pit else could he have expected to happen?

_Idiot!_

The sting of a stasis cuffs biting into his wrists was enough to bring Ironhide out of his self-loathing and back to the present moment. He could not really see what was happening, since Megatron's tight grip under his jaw also kept Ironhide from moving his helm, but he sensed that Breakdown was somewhere near his right side and that the bulky warrior might not be paying attention to where he was standing.

Ironhide fired his plasma cannon, hoping to get lucky, but the shot harmlessly impacted the wall, raining down sparks of white-hot energy but otherwise doing no damage.

"Disable his weapons!" Megatron barked, still needing two hands to hold the squirming mech down. Knock Out tightened the stasis cuffs on Ironhide's wrists and ankles, while Breakdown proceeded to cut the wiring on the black mech's cannons. Ironhide was powerless to stop it, and once his weapons systems were completely deactivated, Breakdown was free to secure a heavy chain over Ironhide's chest, then another over his throat just below Megatron's hand. He tightened it down, allowing the Decepticon leader to finally let go.

Megatron stepped back, grinning at the restrained mech with smug satisfaction. "Well, Ironhide, I must say you do know how to keep things interesting."

Ironhide glared at him coldly, but said nothing.

Megatron chuckled, turning toward the door and addressing Knock Out. "See to it that he gets repaired, then sedate him. Notify me when you've finished."

"Of course, my liege." Knock Out bowed formally at his leader's receding form.

"Good. Breakdown, come with me."

Breakdown and Knock Out shared a glance, then Breakdown shrugged. "You got it."

Ironhide heard the door slam shut, leaving him and Knock Out alone. The Decepticon medical officer walked up to him.

"So," Knock Out drawled, tapping his pointed fingers on the edge of the berth, "are you going to stop making such a ruckus now? You're not going anywhere, so you might as well settle down."

"Frag off."

"Ooh, someone's a bit testy today. Wake up on the wrong side of the berth, did we?"

"I said frag off!" Ironhide tried struggling again, but the chains and stasis cuffs had virtually no give.

"You're just making things harder on yourself," Knock Out replied as he stepped away, presumably to get something. He came back with a syringe, which of course only made Ironhide struggle more vigorously.

"There's no need to make a fuss," Knock Out apathetically reassured him as he slowly injected the contents into Ironhide's arm. "It's just something to help you relax."

"Get that away from me!" Ironhide snapped, unable to pull away. He could already feel it interacting with systems, slowing his spark rate and ventilations.

"There," Knock Out said as he pulled the syringe out. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

Ironhide did not respond, undoubtedly trying to activate his internal defenses against the foreign substance, which Knock Out knew would not work since the majority of it was not actually a foreign substance. It was basically the same compound that the mech's own systems used prior to recharge, albeit in a higher dose and with some slight modifications.

Throwing the syringe away, Knock Out retrieved a medical scanner from subspace. "Now, let's see what we're dealing with..."

The weapons specialist flinched minutely as the tingle of the beam passed over him, but he did not struggle. Whatever Knock Out had drugged him with was working well—lying still felt so blissfully good, even though Ironhide knew logically that he should still be fighting back. He should if only for the principle, but he just could not bring himself to do it.

Knock Out put the scanner away, making a mental list of what he needed to do. First, Ironhide's energon levels were extremely low, and he would need to take care of that before he could do any other work. He fetched an IV bag, deftly setting up a drip.

Ironhide did not even flinch as the needle entered an energon line in his arm. It was barely a pinprick, not enough to cause him much discomfort. The thought of shifting away from it was much less inviting.

"All right." Knock Out stood up to his full height. "First things first. Let's take a look at that burn on your leg."

Ironhide looked at him dazedly, but made no objections or angry retorts.

Knock Out walked to the other side of the berth, his optics already visually scanning the injury. Ironhide had done a good job cauterizing the wound himself, but unfortunately that also meant he had cut off most of the circulation to that extremity. And that did not even take into account the neural damages...

Transforming one hand into a scalpel, the red and white Decepticon cut into the damaged line until energon flowed out. Ironhide did flinch at that, pulling his leg away as far as the restraints would allow, which was not much. Knock Out reached for an aerosol can, shaking it a few times before spraying it on the injury to numb the area. He waited a few moments for it to take effect, then continued working.

Ironhide could feel Knock Out splicing-in a section of line, but there was no pain now. Just... tiredness and dizziness. The weapons specialist shuttered his optics, lulled by the faint and steady sound of his own spark, his awareness of the dimly-lit room around him slowly fading into nothing.

/* * */

Outside of Kaon, the weather was mild. A light breeze was blowing across the sand, all that was left of the storm that had raged earlier.

Ratchet sat alone, but not really alone. Jazz, Optimus, and Prowl were only a short distance away, along with the two ships they had parked there.

Optimus had chosen this spot as their staging area, and the place to meet should anything go wrong during the mission. Of course Ratchet had not known this previously, the chartreuse medic being the reason why there was a mission at all, but Prowl had brought him here to meet up with the others and to make sure that everyone had made it back safely.

While all Autobots were accounted for, Ratchet could not help but notice the absence of a mech whom he had spent quite a bit of time with lately. And Optimus's latest report did nothing to ease the medic's concern.

Ironhide.

While Ratchet had spent several decaorns with the black Decepticon during his recovery, he did not truly get to know him until the events of the past few orns. Ratchet had gained a much clearer sense of who Ironhide was, as well as what he was not.

The seemingly intimidating and aggressive mech was really one that posed no danger to those weaker than himself, and hidden deep below his self-confident exterior were all the doubts, fears, and uncertainties that any other Cybertronian might have.

Unfortunately, Ratchet was the only one who had seen that side of him.

Jazz was pacing nervously. "It sounds dangerous."

"I know," the medic replied, "but he didn't leave me when our situations were reversed. I don't know if I could live with myself knowing I survived because of him, and he perished because of me."

"You might perish trying to save him," Jazz retorted, his voice unusually sharp and biting but only out of concern for his comrade. "This's the pits of Kaon we're talking. Not some crystal garden in the Temple of the AllSpark."

"It's called the _Simfur_ Temple, Jazz," Ratchet bit back. "You should know that."

Jazz waved a hand. "Whatever. You know what I mean."

"Regardless, you planned to save me," the medic replied. "That's the only reason why you're here and not in Iacon right now."

"Yes, we did," Optimus cut in before Jazz could say more.

"Then you've already calculated the risks," Ratchet pointed out. "We know what we're up against."

"But how do you know this isn't just a big 'Con setup?" Jazz asked. "And that 'Hide wasn't deceivin' us from the start?"

"Trust me, I know. He wasn't deceiving us."

"How do you know?" Jazz pressed him, knowing exactly how cunning a Decepticon could be.

"Because he wouldn't have made it more than a few more joors before going into stasis lock," Ratchet explained. "And considering that we never patrol that area and that Ironhide was using a cloaking device at the time, it was highly unlikely that we would have found him had that been a planned occurrence."

"Still sounds like guesswork," Jazz admitted honestly. "Do you think the time you spent with him might be clouding your judgment?"

"No. If anything, I'm only more certain because of it."

No one said anything for a long moment, and then Prowl spoke up.

"I have to agree. Ironhide's actions do not suggest that he has been anything but genuine."

"You sure about that, Prowler? After all, he's the one that shot your aft with your own weapon," Jazz reminded his friend.

_Better yours than his_ , Ratchet thought, having actually seen Ironhide use those oversized cannons.

"Indeed," Prowl acknowledged, answering Jazz. "But he could have also killed me, and he didn't."

"Jazz," Optimus addressed the silver minibot, "if you would not feel comfortable going on this mission for any reason, then you do not have to go. You may remain here if you wish."

"Nah, it's not that, and I wouldn't wanna leave any of ya. It's just if we're gonna be puttin' our sparks on the line for this mech, I wanna make absolutely sure we're doing the right thing."

"We are," Ratchet asserted, more gently this time. "I'm sure of it."

/* * */

Slowly, Ironhide felt his systems coming back online. Apparently his processor did not care that he felt worse now than he had before, because it would not let him drift back into the cold but welcoming state of recharge that had numbed most of the pain.

Ironhide grunted softly as the aches and pains quickly jostled their way to the forefront of his awareness, the weapons specialist having given up the fight and instead complied with his processor's wishes. He could tell that he was sitting upright now, and that something was holding him against the wall. It felt like a heavy chain across his torso.

His vision was starting to come back online as well, and he noticed that there was some diffuse blue light filtering in from somewhere. He glanced toward it, trying to determine whether it was the poor lighting or his damaged optic that was causing him not to see clearly, but he could not really tell. All he knew for sure was that his optic still stung like the Pit—Megatron had probably scratched the lens, if not cracked it.

Ironhide reached up to caress the aching area, but something abruptly stopped his hand. Looking down, he saw that his wrists were chained to the floor. And that his weapons had been removed.

_Frag_.

Ironhide sighed tiredly, relaxing against the chains. His weapons, unless he ejected them himself, were designed to be difficult to remove. He hated to think of how anyone had gotten them off.

He almost felt like he had been stripped to his protoform, he was so used to feeling that familiar weight on his forearms...

"Awake, are we?"

Ironhide looked up, only then noticing the slim mech standing just on the other side of the door to his cell, leaning casually against the bars.

"Starscream," the weapons specialist responded, his voice already a bit raspy from lack of use. He coughed before continuing, "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to see if you were really here," Starscream answered. "I thought you would have been halfway across Cybertron by now, considering that you left with an Autobot. Was it not all it was cracked up to be?"

"It was fine," Ironhide retorted. "A lot better than being almost offlined by one of your own."

The air commander scoffed at that. "That's what happens when you don't look out for your own safety."

"And how the frag was I supposed to know that you were going to put a landmine there?"

"Megatron's orders," Starscream replied. "But even if you missed that memo, you should know better than to go off on your own like a foolish sparkling."

"It should not have happened," Ironhide insisted, his tone a little sharper. "Using any explosives there is a violation of the rules of engagement, and you and I both know it."

"Do you think Megatron cares about what some agreement says? He does what he has to to win," Starscream snapped back. "I merely follow orders, and watch my own back. If you were smart, you'd do the same."

"Don't insult me, flier. My experience predates yours by decavorns."

"And yet you're still naive enough to think that you can trust others." Starscream stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. "I watched the footage of you and the medic. Do you really think he had any concern for you, his enemy?"

"Not everyone is as self-serving or as partisan as you are," the weapons specialist responded, feeling fatigued but doing his best to ignore it. "He's not my enemy."

"Then what is he? Your friend?"

Ironhide did not answer, not being sure himself.


	20. Chapter 20

Ironhide rested his battered but slowly healing frame against the wall, the old scars mixed with what would certainly become new ones. The scratches and dents were not as visible now, the room having gotten gradually darker as time had passed, the blue light fading away only to be replaced by a dim white one that came from the hallway. Ironhide for his part welcomed the almost inky darkness he was left in, primarily because it afforded him the privacy he needed to relax a bit. He cycled air through his vents, optics shuttered, feeling distinctly tired now.

He had refused the energon that the Decepticon guards had brought him earlier, not trusting what might be in it. They had then tried to force him, and in the resulting struggle a majority of the precious fuel ended up getting spilled on the ground and the weapons specialist expended more energon than he ingested. They would probably try again later, when he was weaker, but for now they were leaving him alone and so he did not worry excessively about it.

Rather, what did worry him was what was going to happen after that. Ironhide spent his time trying to quiet his processor, hoping to lull himself into recharge and alleviate the uncomfortable feeling settling in his spark, the one that had nothing to do with low energon levels caused by nearly depleted reserves in his all but empty tanks.

He had almost made it into recharge too, when an indeterminate noise woke him up. He blinked, glancing at the dim light on the hallway ceiling.

This base was full of noises. He had come to ignore them.

Ironhide turned away, as much as he could considering that he was chained to the floor at least, and shuttered his optics. As long as no one came into his cell, he had no reason to care about what was going on on the outside.

Knock Out had only brought Ironhide's energon levels up to the minimum when he did his repairs, leaving the weapons specialist tired and a bit weak. Ironhide tried to spend as much time in recharge as he could, just to avoid expending any more energy than he needed to, but the seemingly constant interruptions were not making it any easier.

The noise was getting louder too. It sounded like yelling, a commotion down the hall, and Ironhide muted his audio receptors to avoid having to listen to it. Then he sighed faintly, leaning his helm toward his shoulder.

He was not sure how long they intended to wait, but in a way he wished they would just get it over and done with. He would fight it of course, but there was no way he could win. In the end he would not remember...

Ironhide startled as he felt someone slam against the bars of his cell, the vibrations strong enough to through the floor. He opened his optics instinctively, also restoring power to his audios.

There was a Vehicon guard with his back to Ironhide's cell, in a scuffle with another mech that Ironhide could not really see. The mech was yelling, "Get the frag off me!"

Ironhide cocked his head.

That voice... it sounded familiar...

Ironhide finally got a look at the mech when the guard threw him against the bars again, sparks flying from his yellow-green armor at the force of the impact. The weapons specialist almost did not believe what he was seeing.

Ratchet?

The Autobot medic was putting up a valiant fight, hurling a fresh wave of insults at his attacker even as the purple Decepticon threw him into the adjacent cell and locked him in. Ironhide said nothing, not understanding how Ratchet had gotten captured or why Prowl was not with him.

Had something worse happened to the black and white enforcer? Did their ship get shot down before they made it out of Decepticon territory?

Ratchet seemed flustered, his vents heaving from exertion as he stood in the cell, but he did not appear overly upset.

"Ratchet," Ironhide breathed as soon as the guard had left, "what are you doing here?"

Ratchet did not move from his position right away, instead glancing down the hall as if making sure they were alone. Then he quickly walked up to the bars that separated them, getting as close to the weapons specialist as he could and speaking quietly. "I came to find you. Are you all right?"

Ironhide replied, also quietly, "You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," the medic reassured him. "We're going to get you out of here."

"We?"

"Yes." Ratchet paused, looking away for a second as if he heard a noise, but then determining that it was nothing. He asked again, "Are you all right?"

"My systems seem to be functioning adequately," Ironhide said, having already ran a diagnostic.

That did not seem to be the answer Ratchet was looking for. "No, I meant are _you_ all right," the medic amended.

Ironhide hesitated, caught off guard by Ratchet's obvious concern and not really knowing if he was all right in that regard or not. He knew he should have felt _something_ , some bit of relief or comfort in the fact that Ratchet apparently cared deeply enough about him to risk his own life coming back here and trying to save him, but for some reason the weapons specialist did not feel anything at all. Maybe his CPU was just too muddled to process the situation correctly. "I'm fine," he finally answered.

"Are you sure? Because you look like scrap." Ratchet tried to lighten the mood. "Do you always get yourself into this much trouble?"

Ironhide smiled a little at that, imagining how terrible he probably looked right then. He usually made a point of keeping himself clean and polished, not out of vanity like a certain Decepticon medic he knew, but rather because it gave the appearance of a mech that had his act together. "No. Just recently it seems."

"How long have you been chained up like that?" Ratchet wondered.

"I'm not sure. The better part of an orn at least."

Ratchet glanced aside, calculating the time. "That seems about right, considering when Optimus last saw you."

The weapons specialist seemed to perk up at that. "He made it back all right?"

"Yes," Ratchet replied. "He got back just fine."

Ironhide turned his helm away, looking suddenly guilty. "I didn't mean to abandon him."

"I would hardly say you abandoned him," the medic responded, noting how Ironhide's mood had seemed to fluctuate so quickly. "If anything, he feels that way about you."

Ironhide did not respond to that, also not meeting Ratchet's gaze anymore. Ratchet wondered what the visibly tired mech was thinking, but he also knew that Ironhide was a fairly reserved individual and would only reveal his innermost thoughts and feelings if he was ready to. And at the moment, Ironhide did not seem inclined to share anything personal.

Ratchet waited for a few moments, then decided to try changing the subject to something less direct.

"So what do the Decepticons usually do with their prisoners?"

Ironhide looked at him then, the mechanisms in his red optics shifting subtly as he contemplated his answer. "It depends on how useful the prisoner is. A mech like you, that isn't a real danger and probably doesn't have a lot of intel, would probably be used for bargaining."

Ratchet nodded. "What about a mech like you? I see that they made some repairs to your leg."

"Yes, they did." Ironhide glanced down at the shiny welds along his upper thigh, still feeling the faint wisps of pain from when he had turned his own weapon on himself.

"And they disarmed you as well," Ratchet observed.

"Yeah. Only problem is I'm of little use without any weapons."

"That's not true. You're intelligent."

Ironhide huffed lightly, shaking his head. "Intelligent enough to get into trouble, but not to stay out of it. Otherwise I wouldn't be here right now."

"You're strong," Ratchet pressed. "You're the only mech I know that would stand a ghost of a chance against Megatron."

"Not even your Prime would?" Ironhide questioned him.

"Optimus has come a long way," Ratchet explained, "but the fact remains that his past is that of a data clerk. He was never designed for this, and it's not a skill he's learning without difficulty."

"I was designed for it, and Megatron can still fight better than me. I lost to him enough times to be certain of that."

"But did you ever win, even once?" Ratchet asked.

"Once," Ironhide replied. "That was all."

"And that's all it takes to prove that you're stronger than you think you are." Ratchet shifted his weight, resting against the bars. "Megatron knows it, or he wouldn't have bothered restraining you when you're completely unarmed."

"Perhaps that's true," the weapons specialist conceded, "but where has it gotten me?"

Ironhide sounded utterly defeated, and Ratchet's spark ached for the mech but he felt that there was nothing he could do to comfort him right then. He would just have to wait until the others arrived.

In the meantime, what could he say?

"It's kept you online," was what Ratchet finally decided to go with. "You wouldn't still be with us if it wasn't for that."

"Sometimes," the black Decepticon replied, "I think there are worse things than returning to the Well of AllSparks."

Ratchet was not sure what to say to that. He had admittedly not known the Decepticon for all that long, but Ironhide was clearly in a frame of mind that was far beyond what Ratchet had ever seen him in. He could not hope to help him, unless he knew what was upsetting the mech so much.

"Ironhide," Ratchet addressed him gently, trying to be as sensitive as he could, "what has you so worried?"

Ironhide looked away again, not feeling like talking about it but at the same time not wanting to seem rude to the only mech since before the war that had cared enough to ask such a question. Eventually, the latter outweighed the former. "Based on what Starscream told me, they're going to do a forced reformat."

The medic blinked in surprise. "You mean erase your memory?"

Ironhide nodded. "Part of it, yes."

Ratchet stepped back from the bars, crossing his arms over his chest momentarily before then dropping them to his sides. "How is that even possible?"

"Have you ever heard of a device called a cortical psychic patch?" Ironhide asked him.

"Of course," Ratchet replied. "But I thought it was just another impractical Decepticon idea."

The weapons specialist shook his head. "No. We've been using it for a while now."

Ratchet paused, likely considering the morality of such a device. "And that would allow them to access and remove any file from your memory banks, without your consent?"

"Precisely."

The Autobot paused again, shifting his bright armor as he pondered exactly how the Decepticons had managed to accomplish that. It was of course possible to modify a Cybertronian's coding, and in fact it was a quite common practice when treating viruses that had progressed beyond a certain point, but memory files? Even if one succeeded in gaining unauthorized access to them...

"The files are encrypted," Ratchet finally said. "How could they possibly know which ones to target?"

They would certainly not want to reformat all of Ironhide's memory. After all, how much use would he be to them if he did not even know the basics of Cybertronian society? He would be almost as helpless as a sparkling...

"It's quite simple really," Ironhide explained. "You target only the episodic memory banks."

"But how can you tell which banks are episodic, and not semantic or any of the others?"

"It's not really my specialty so I don't know exactly how the process works, but basically you can monitor a mech's processor activity and then see which memory banks are triggered when you mention certain things."

That made sense to Ratchet—every thought had some physical manifestation, no matter how small. "Have you participated in such a procedure?"

It was not something they did often, only a handful of times, but Ironhide had In fact participated in every procedure. He was the one who would ask the questions that would generate the unconscious responses. And every time, he would secretly duplicate everything that was erased, quietly filing the packets of data away among his own memory banks. He never read the files, never could, but he saved them nonetheless.

He was not sure why he did it. Perhaps because they should not go to waste?

Or perhaps it was because that was the only way he could feel less guilty about what he was doing.

"If you prefer not to say, that's all right," Ratchet interrupted his thoughts. "I was just... curious about how it worked."

"I'd give you a first-hand account," Ironhide said impassively, "but I don't think I'll remember it."

Ratchet tried to stay positive. "Well, with any luck, it won't get to that point. The others will be here tonight."

Ironhide said nothing, leaning into the wall a bit more and privately giving in to the feelings of negativity and hopelessness that seemed to be plaguing his thoughts. It was not like him to think that way, not at all, but lately he could not help it.

"You look tired," the medic noted, not even needing his trained optics to determine that. "If you want to rest, I'll keep watch for you."

"Pretty much all I've been doing is resting," Ironhide informed him, his crimson optics swiveling to look at the Autobot.

"And it's obvious that you still need it," Ratchet persisted, knowing that a reprieve would do the mech some good. "Go ahead. I'll wake you if someone comes."

Ironhide let out a sigh, his armor sagging a bit as he finally gave in. "Very well. Thank you, Ratchet."


	21. Chapter 21

_It started with the sound of footsteps down the hall._

Ratchet had of course been on lookout the entire time, but now the medic's sensors were on high-alert as he tried to reassess the situation.

Were Decepticons coming? Or were they Autobots?

Ratchet sincerely hoped it was the latter. He shifted, stepping away from the bars in case he was being watched, not wanting to tip anyone off that he was expecting company from his own ranks. His sensors were still not picking up any useful data so he glanced over at the small window above Ironhide's cell, seeing only one star in a field of black that he might not have otherwise recognized as the night sky. They should be here any time now...

The sound of footsteps was growing even louder now, and Ratchet turned his head to look just as his HUD provided him with the data he had been waiting for. The energon in his lines ran cold when he saw the readout.

Soundwave was approaching.

_"Ironhide!_ " Ratchet whispered as loudly as he dared to, trying to wake Ironhide from recharge.

Ironhide must have heard him, because he stirred and then onlined his optics. The mech still looked exhausted and overstressed, cooling fans kicking on with a harsh growl and his usually stoic visage starting to betray his discomfort, but to his credit he oriented himself quickly, glancing at Ratchet with a questioning look.

The Autobot whispered, " _Soundwave's coming._ "

Ironhide's armor flared at that, and for a moment it almost seemed as if the veteran warrior still had all of his fight left in him.

But Ratchet knew better. Ironhide was in no condition to put up any kind of fight.

Unfortunately for the weapons specialist, he may not have a choice.

Ratchet watched as the sleek form of Soundwave materialized at the end of the corridor like a shadowy wraith, the dark visor masking his optics only adding to the effect. Soundwave was a mech of few words, Ratchet knew, but he was one of the most dangerous and he was known to be fiercely loyal to Megatron, even if his passive exterior did not suggest such.

Ironhide let out a low growl as Soundwave coolly approached his cell, the master spy's slender fingers deftly entering the access code to unlock the heavy metal door. It opened with a creak, leaving nothing but empty air between Ironhide and the mech who had apparently come to retrieve him.

"Save yourself the trouble, Soundwave," Ironhide bit out, even if he knew it was not going to work. "I'm not going anywhere."

Ratchet glanced at the Decepticon communications officer, who said nothing outwardly but must have been communicating with Ironhide in private, because the weapons specialist suddenly hissed and jerked away as if the other Decepticon had physically touched him.

"Like the Pit I will!" Ironhide yelled, and that was when Soundwave grabbed him.

The slim Decepticon did not even need to take more than a few steps closer, choosing to latch onto Ironhide's wrists with the wiry tentacles from his chassis rather than his hands and arms. He then released Ironhide from the heavy chains, and hauled the snarling weapons specialist to his feet.

Ratchet heard himself yell, "Ironhide!"

Ironhide staggered forward as Soundwave pushed him roughly ahead, neither mech giving any indication that they had even heard the Autobot's distressed cry.

Ratchet for his part did not care if anyone was listening or not—he could not be quiet about this. He was about to lose someone whom he would consider to be a friend...

The weapons specialist suddenly rounded on Soundwave, wrenching one arm free and landing a heavy punch on the other mech's armor. Soundwave reacted quickly, regaining control of Ironhide's arm and then throwing the mech forward into the hallway. Ironhide was panting already, trying to use his considerable weight to fight against Soundwave's incessant pull but failing badly.

Ironhide could still hear the medic calling his name as Soundwave forced him down the hall.

/* * */

Ratchet paced in his cell, the glow of his ice blue optics cutting through the dim light like an energon blade through steel. Two joors had passed. _Two joors_.

Where were the others?

Finally forcing himself to stop pacing, the agitated medic grasped the bars of the cell and closed his optics, his grip tightening around the cold metal even if the action did nothing to relieve the stress. He did not want to even think about what might be happening to Ironhide right then, or what might have _already_ happened to the weapons specialist, yet at the same time it seemed like all Ratchet _could_ do was worry about it.

What if they could not reach Ironhide in time? What if Megatron turned him against them?

Sure, Ironhide's core programming would be untouched, but—and as much as Ratchet did not like to admit it—Ironhide was predisposed to be a killer. If the Decepticons were to cultivate that tendency even further, to condition his behavior so that he no longer showed the restraint or selectivity that had caused him to spare Ratchet's life, the consequences could be dire. Dire, and irreversible.

Not just for the Autobots, but for Ironhide as well. Without any of his own experience to draw on, the seasoned veteran would be completely at the mercy of his Decepticon captors, vulnerable and impressionable enough to believe anything that they might tell him, and the most tragic part would be that Ironhide would not even know what he had lost.

Ratchet opened his optics, realizing that he had been gripping the bars hard enough that his hands hurt. He let go, stepping back, his reflective plating trembling in response to the all pent-up energy that he had no outlet for.

No, he could not let the Decepticons win. Not this time.

But what could he do, when there may not be time to wait for the others and he was alone and trapped like this? Think, Ratchet, _think!_

He needed to get out of here. Anything else would depend on that.

The Autobot medic glanced around his cell, looking for even the smallest design flaw or construction weakness that he could exploit. Obviously the walls and the bars would be a no, but the lock mechanism or hinges—if they were not designed right, he just might be able to capitalize on that and make an escape.

As Ratchet set himself to work, he could only hope that Ironhide would be able to hang on long enough.

/* * */

Weapons powered on...

Defense systems armed...

Cloaking device engaged.

The silver form of Jazz quickly darted against the outside of the building, waiting for his comrades to catch up to him. Prowl arrived only seconds later, the black and white mech swiftly moving to stand beside Jazz, and then Optimus brought up the rear.

"You all ready?" Jazz asked.

"We're ready, Jazz," Prowl responded, powering up the weapon on his left forearm. "Proceed."

With that, Jazz turned to the numbered keypad on the reinforced door of the building, plugging in a small handheld device that would crack the lock code by digitally analyzing its logic gates. Optimus and Prowl waited patiently, the dim haze of a nearby street light casting an almost orange glow on their reflective armor, until the latch clicked open.

"Got it," the silver mech announced, carefully pushing open the door and peaking inside. "Not a mech in sight."

"Good," Prowl replied. "Let's hope it stays that way." Then he followed Jazz into the building, Optimus right behind him. The Autobot leader closed the door quietly and then turned to face his comrades.

"All right. The Decepticon brig should be directly under us, and monitored by electronic surveillance only. Stay together if at all possible." Optimus transformed into vehicle mode. "Let's find Ratchet."

Jazz and Prowl followed suit, transforming into their respective vehicle modes. "I'm going first," Jazz said, pulling ahead of the others. "Smaller targets are harder to hit."

"The goal is that none of us become targets, Jazz," Prowl replied, following behind him. "The ideal scenario would be that the Decepticons do not even find out that we are here."

"I know. I'm just saying, it's best if I take point."

"As always, Jazz, be careful," Optimus spoke up. "We do not wish for you to get injured."

Jazz transmitted the equivalent of a digital smile. "I know that too, OP. I just wanna look out for you all. You're my family now."

Optimus smiled internally. Jazz was not usually one to share his feelings like that, and it was sparkwarming to know what the silver mech was thinking. "We are honored, Jazz. You have become our family as well."

Nothing else was said until the trio of Autobots reached the end of the corridor, left to choose between a stairway or a freight elevator to get to the next level down.

Prowl transformed first, already knowing what Jazz was thinking. "We take the stairs," Prowl asserted. "It would be far too easy for them to trap us in an elevator."

"Frag it, Prowler," Jazz teased him, also transforming. "How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

"It's _Prowl_ , Jazz. _Prowl,_ " the enforcer corrected him. "And it is often quite easy to predict your behavior."

Jazz grinned. "Okay, fine. You win. We'll take the stairs."

"I would also be willing to speculate," Prowl continued as the small team of Autobots headed down the stairway, "that if this was not such a serious mission, you would take the elevator simply to demonstrate the validity of your argument."

Jazz turned to his leader then. "Optimus, are you sure he's not a telepath?"

"I'm not telepathic, just intuitive," Prowl answered.

"Prowl is correct, Jazz," Optimus agreed, reaching the bottom of the stairwell just before the others. "He also knows you well."

"Sometimes, I think he knows me better than I know me," Jazz commented playfully as he armed his blaster, glancing at the rows of empty cells that stretched out before them. At least it should not take long to find Ratchet—this was one of those times when the medic's exceedingly bright armor would actually be an asset.

Optimus gestured toward the right. "Let us search this wing first. I believe that more of the cells are located on this side, making it more likely that we will find Ratchet there."

"Sounds good, OP." Jazz stepped forward, leading the way. "Hopefully he found 'Hide too so we don't have to hang around here too long."

"Indeed." Optimus had his sensors on alert for the medic, also hoping that they would find him quickly.

One empty cell after another passed with no sign of anyone, Autobot or Decepticon. Then they heard a noise.

The three mechs immediately stopped, glancing at each other and trying to determine which direction the sound had come from, and more importantly, what it was. To Jazz it sounded like... someone prying on metal, or something. He heard it again, and pointed in that direction.

_"Over there,"_ Jazz transmitted through his comm. Optimus and Prowl turned in that direction, and the three of them carefully moved toward the source of the sound.

When they rounded the corner, Jazz was infinitely relieved at what he saw. "Ratchet!"

The Autobot medic looked up from what he was working on. Apparently he had been trying to dismantle the lock mechanism on his cell, and had managed to pry off the backing plate. "Jazz!"

Jazz sprinted up to the cell. "Optimus and Prowl're here, too. We'll getcha out in no time."

Ratchet glanced behind Jazz, finally seeing the red and blue armor of Optimus as the Autobot leader strolled up to the cell, followed closely by Prowl. "Thank Primus," Ratchet murmured, running a metal hand over his face. "I was hoping you would come soon."

"Ratchet, have the Decepticons done anything to threaten or harm you?" Optimus asked, noting how stressed the medic looked. He was all but shaking in his yellow-green armor.

"No, I'm fine, but they took Ironhide. He was right here." Ratchet gestured toward the other cell. "We need to find him before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Jazz asked. "Why'd they take him?"

"Do you know where they took him?" Prowl interjected, stepping up to the bars. He knew that time was always of the essence when it came to dealing with Decepticons. The sooner they could find the weapons specialist, the better.

"I don't know where they took him. Probably a lab or med bay," Ratchet guessed. "He said they were going to selectively erase his memory, so it would have to be somewhere that has the facilities for that."

"I think I know where to look," Prowl said. "Optimus, I don't recommend we wait."

Optimus glanced at his comrades, clearly pondering the best course of action. "Nor would I, Prowl," the red and blue mech finally responded, "but we cannot leave Ratchet here alone."

"You two go," Jazz cut in. "I can get Ratch out of here. We'll meet up with you."

Optimus shifted his weight, not liking the idea of splitting up but seeing no good alternative. It was hard to say how long it might take to free Ratchet, and Ironhide might desperately need their help. "Are you certain, Jazz?"

"Yeah," Jazz replied confidently. "Don't worry, I'll keep us out of harm's way."

"I trust him, Prime," Ratchet added, wanting his leader to know that he supported the plan as well. "We'll be fine."

Optimus nodded. "All right. Maintain radio contact, and notify us immediately if you need assistance."

"We will, OP," Jazz reassured him, Ratchet already going back to work on the lock.

With that, Optimus stepped back. "Prowl, let's roll." Then the two Autobots transformed and took off down the corridor.

Jazz watched them go, then turned to Ratchet. "So how much progress have you made with the lock?"

"I've exposed the electronics, now I just need to figure out which part actually controls the actuator," Ratchet explained, a small tool in his hand as he carefully moved some of the wires aside. "It would be a whole lot easier if I had a schematic."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Jazz laughed. "But it might not matter. I got this thing from Wheeljack, and it worked like a charm on the outside door. This circuit looks bigger, but it should still work."

Ratchet glanced at the little handheld device that Jazz pulled out from subspace. "A code breaker?"

"Basically," the silver minibot answered, "but it doesn't need brute force so it's a lot faster. We won't need to wait for joors."

"That's definitely a plus," Ratchet said, rather impressed. "How long does it take?"

"A few breems usually. So far never more than ten when we were testing it."

"Impressive indeed... So we just wait?"

"Yep." Jazz grabbed something else from subspace, handing it to Ratchet. "Here, put this on."

Ratchet accepted the equally small but obviously different device, turning it over in his hand. "What is it?"

"It's a cloaking device," Jazz explained. "Obviously the 'Cons can still see you, but you'll be invisible to the cameras and sensors."

Ratchet strapped it around his wrist, activating it with the click of a switch. "Did Wheeljack design this too?"

Jazz shook his head. "No. It's reverse-engineered off the one 'Hide wears. We analyzed it when he was in custody."

"I see." Ratchet studied the little device again, surprised that he had not recognized it even though he had certainly seen it during Ironhide's exams.

"So you said they're gonna erase his memory?" Jazz asked, now that they were on the subject.

"Yes, part of it." Ratchet lifted his optics to meet Jazz's gaze. "From what I understand, they plan to remove everything related to his personal experiences so they can retrain him however they like."

Jazz blinked. "That's terrible. Leave it to the 'Cons to pull some stunt like that," he huffed.

"Tell me about it." Ratchet shifted his weight. "I didn't even know they could."

Jazz sighed. "Neither did I, until now. What are we gonna do if they already got to him?"

"Well, training him would take time, so I don't think we need to worry about that aspect quite yet. We just need to get him out of their hands before it does get to that point."

"But we could never restore his memory. How could we get him to trust us if we're strangers?"

"Getting him to trust us would be the touchy part," Ratchet allowed, "but if we could accomplish that, it would be possible restore his memories."

Jazz tilted his helm, looking at Ratchet questioningly. "How? We don't have them."

"Actually," the medic admitted. "I do. He shared them with me, that night when we were outside of Kaon."

That surprised Jazz. "He shared his entire memory core with you?"

Ratchet nodded. "Everything."

The silver mech blinked again, a puzzled expression on his visored face. "Why would he do that?"

"I didn't know why he did it at the time," Ratchet explained, looking down at the ground, "but now, I think it must have been because he knew something like this could happen and he needed someone he could trust to protect him."

"And he trusted you?"

"Apparently so."

Jazz nodded, looking pensive. "But if he was worried that this might happen," the silver mech wondered, "then why come back here at all?"

"I don't know, Jazz," Ratchet replied, shaking his head. "I don't know, but he might be paying the price for it."

Just then Jazz's device beeped, and the latch to Ratchet's cell popped open.

"Well, don't lose hope yet. There's no reason to fear the worst before it happens." Jazz opened the barred door so Ratchet could step out. "Let's go."


	22. Chapter 22

_"Optimus, we're out."_

Jazz's short comm reached the blue and red leader only a handful breems after he and Prowl had departed from the cold and damp brig, the two Autobots making their way through the labyrinthine Decepticon corridors to an area of laboratories and med bays where Prowl was fairly certain they would find Ironhide.

_"Good work, Jazz,"_ Optimus transmitted from the cab of his vehicle mode, relieved that the silver minibot had been able to free Ratchet with little to no trouble. _"I am sending you the coordinates of the location that Prowl has designated_ _for us to search first. Meet us there."_

_"Got it,"_ Jazz replied. _"We're on our way."_

Optimus sent an acknowledging blip through the comm link and then turned his attention back to the mech ahead of him, Prowl's black and white vehicle mode cruising almost silently through the dim hallway and his white running lights reflecting off the semi-lustrous metallic walls. They were almost there now, and had already begun to scan for the weapons specialist's spark signature along with that of any other Decepticons.

"I believe we should check the recovery rooms," Prowl stated, close enough to his leader that he did not need to use a comm. "There does not appear to be any activity at the moment."

"Indeed not," Optimus had to agree, looking at the myriad of empty and abandoned labs. "It may also be prudent to search by sight, in case the walls here are designed to be impermeable to signals." Optimus transformed and stood, making it easier for him to visually scan the rooms. Each one had a medium-sized window that was just above the height of his vehicle mode, to allow mechs on the outside to view what was going on in the lab. He could see his own reflection superimposed over the laboratory interior, the glass being partially reflective and suggesting that it acted as a kind of one-way mirror.

Prowl also transformed. "I check the left, you check the right?"

"Agreed." Optimus walked briskly along the corridor, slowing his pace by every room just long enough to survey its contents. Each contained a different set of equipment or was organized in a different way, but they all shared one thing in common—they were unoccupied.

"Prime," the enforcer called out to him, gesturing toward a particular room.

Optimus was not sure what to expect as he strode over to his teammate and peered through the reinforced glass window. The room was about as poorly lit as the hallway, however he could still clearly see the black and bits of chrome that marked the frame of the mech who was sealed inside—Ironhide.

The weapons specialist was prone and unmoving, lying with his optics shuttered on a berth against the far wall. Optimus could not tell if the mech was resting, in recharge, or in stasis.

"Do we go in?" Prowl asked. "He's not restrained."

Optimus shifted his weight, turning to allow his blue gaze to meet that of his fellow Autobot. "I will go in. Remain here and monitor the hallway, but be ready to provide backup if needed."

Prowl nodded, stepping to the side and unsubspacing a device that was a mirror image of the one Jazz had used. He plugged it into the electronic keypad that triggered the lock, and after only about a breem and a half, the door clicked open.

Giving his colleague a nod of appreciation, Optimus stepped inside.

Despite the uncomfortably dim lighting, the pale gray walls gave the appearance of a space that was much more well-lit. The sparse furnishings, really nothing more than a small end table near the berth and some unused monitors hanging on the wall, also had the effect of making the relatively small room seem larger than it was. Optimus quickly shifted his gaze to Ironhide, who had not moved so much as a nanometer since Optimus had first walked through the door. The red and blue mech took a step closer, quickly assessing the Decepticon's condition.

Ironhide's frame was battered and dented, the heavy armor plates clearly having taken the brunt of the damage, but as far as Optimus could tell they had done their job—the slight movement of Ironhide's chassis as he ventilated his systems suggested that his automatic functions were intact and that he did not have any physical trouble cycling air. The black warrior was also not leaking energon from any external wounds, and the warm plating that greeted the light touch of Optimus's hand suggested that any internal leaks were not significant enough to cause Ironhide to shunt energon toward the more vital areas in his core.

Keeping his hand on Ironhide's armor, Optimus turned his head just enough to call over his shoulder, "Prowl."

Prowl turned away from his post at the entrance and faced Optimus. "Yes, Prime?"

"Get the ship. Park somewhere nearby, but out of sight," Optimus instructed. "Databurst us the coordinates when you do, and wait for us there unless a situation arises."

Prowl nodded. "Right away." Then he transformed and quietly sped off, the faint sound of his engine fading away in what seemed like no time at all.

Optimus opened a comm link to the rest of his team. _"Ratchet, Jazz, we've found Ironhide. I am sending the coordinates now."_

Ratchet responded first, and even through the garbled comm link Optimus could hear the medic's usually steady voice waver in concern. _"What is his condition?"_

_"Unclear at this time. He is unresponsive,"_ Optimus detailed, his optics scanning over the weapons specialist once again. _"I do not see any life-threatening injuries, however he has clearly sustained damage_ _since the last time I saw him."_

_"Hopefully not since the last time I saw him,"_ the medic replied. _"His back sustained_ _damage from the fall but he also had injuries to his right leg_ _and his right optic, the latter of which the Decepticons did not bother making any repairs to."_

Optimus could hear the vexation underlying his companion's words. Ratchet had always had a strong disdain for Decepticon medical practices, which tended to put off any procedures that were not considered absolutely necessary, even if doing so would only make the repair process more difficult later on. The ludicrousness of such policies never ceased to amaze Ratchet, who always based his decisions on sound reasoning and the best interests of his patients.

_"That sounds like an accurate description of his current state,"_ Optimus informed him, not seeing any major deviations. _"All indications suggest that he is stable and in no immediate danger."_

_"All right. We'll be there in about five breems."_

_"Understood."_ The Autobot leader closed the comm link and then dropped down beside Ironhide, taking the opportunity to truly get a look at the Decepticon warrior whom Ratchet seemed to trust implicitly.

Optimus thought he knew why. As he studied the blunt and ragged features of Ironhide's battle-scarred face, as well as the vast multitude of fine nicks and scrapes that seemed to coat the rest of his once-glossy armor, Optimus was reminded of the various surveillance videos he had watched of Ironhide in battle shortly after the black mech had been taken into custody by Autobot forces. Optimus had wanted to learn everything he could about their unlikely captive, particularly what influenced his behavior and why he acted the way he did, because he did not seem to be driven by the typical Decepticon need for power and domination, yet at the same time he bore their insignia and was one of the most intimidating fighters in their ranks.

It was a conundrum that Optimus did not fully understand yet, but one that he was certain Ratchet had already learned the answer to. Ironhide was fundamentally different from most Decepticons and that difference was easy to see when the weapons specialist was out on the battlefield. On more than one occasion, Ironhide had turned a blind optic to an injured or defenseless Autobot.

Including Ratchet.

However, Ratchet's trust in the seemingly enigmatic black Decepticon did not come until much later, when the two mechs had found themselves together by pure chance and for an extended amount of time. Ratchet had earned Ironhide's trust as much as Ironhide had earned the medic's, and Optimus had also hoped to earn that trust and find out exactly what kind of mech Ironhide really was.

But fate had not intended it to be so, at least not yet, and Ratchet did not speak of the time he had spent with Ironhide in Kaon in much detail. And as Optimus turned his attention to the damaged optic cover on Ironhide's face, he could not help but wonder if he would be getting to know the same mech.

Or if the Decepticons had gotten to him first.

Perhaps this entire situation could have been avoided if Optimus had not consented to treating Ironhide as anything less than a flight risk. The weapons specialist should have had some kind of restraining device or tracker placed on him, in case he did escape from his cell...

But that did not seem like the best course of action at the time. Ironhide had done nothing to warrant such measures.

Until it was too late to implement them, that is.

Regardless of what had happened in the past, or what might have been done to Ironhide as a consequence, Optimus was here now and he was going to do everything he could to ensure that no additional harm came to the mech who had saved his friend's life, and who had helped him navigate through the foreign streets of Kaon, all while asking for no favors in return. It was the least Optimus could do and he planned to follow through with it whether Ironhide would now be hostile toward him or not.

Just as the flame patterned mech finished that line of thought, and almost as if triggered by some unspoken cue, Ironhide's systems began emitting the telltale clicks and whirs of a reboot sequence.

Optimus listened carefully before he made any other move, his suspicions confirmed when he heard the mech's cooling fans kick on at their initial high speed just before his CPU determined that it was not necessary and spun them down. Theoretically that check should have been halted before it even began, indicating that Ironhide's reboot process was going slower than it should and that it was probably being affected by some foreign element, which would stand to reason since there was no obvious physical reason for him to be offline. It may even take as long as a breem for him to regain a normal level of consciousness.

_"Ratchet,"_ Optimus transmitted through the comm link, wanting to notify his medic of the new situation, _"Ironhide is beginning to come online. However,_ _his reboot time is clearly delayed."_

Optimus thought he heard Ratchet curse.

_"All right. Be careful with him,"_ the medic warned over the comm link, also transmitting data that indicated he was only a breem or two away now. _"If the Decepticons did selectively erase his memory, his motor skills will still be intact and you may be perceived as a stranger."_

_"Understood."_ Optimus put his weapons away, placing the entire system in standby to reduce any energy signatures that Ironhide might detect. Whether or not the weapons specialist had managed to protect himself from the mental intrusion, he would probably be disoriented and there was no sense in alarming him.

Ironhide grunted softly, his systems coming fully online now with a momentary but high-pitched capacitive whine and an uneven hitch in his vents that also quickly disappeared. He moved then, shifting his hands to a position more under his chest, unsteadily preparing to push himself upright but not yet following through with the movement.

Optimus knew the moment when Ironhide became aware of his presence, the black mech's scanners brushing over his red and blue frame and doubtlessly providing the weapons specialist with a vast amount of basic data about him. The Prime merely waited, unsure of how Ironhide was going to react and completely clueless as to the best way to determine the weapons specialist's mental state. However, the Autobot leader was careful not to convey that to the mech who had finally summoned enough strength to push himself up into a semi-sitting position, even if the Decepticon had not yet made visual contact with him.

Optimus watched as Ironhide gingerly lifted a metal hand to his face, carefully rubbing the metal panels above and below his damaged optic with two fingers before placing the back of his hand over the tender area to cover it completely. For a moment the black mech just stayed there like that, silent and unmoving, both optics shuttered, but then he lowered his hand and turned to look at Optimus.

Unsure of what else to say, Optimus simply addressed him. "Ironhide?"


	23. Chapter 23

Ironhide could not remember what came first or last, consciousness or the ability to move. Perhaps it was because neither one seemed to be fully within his grasp, yet both had required a significant amount of energy to acquire. Even now, it felt as if he had to fight against his own systems just to stay online.

Oh, how easy it would be to just give in and let the welcoming darkness engulf him...

But something was telling the weapons specialist that he needed to get up, something that he could not identify but also that he could not seem to ignore. It pushed him, urging him to do everything he could to maintain what little semblance of a connection he had managed to establish with the outside world.

Ironhide shifted his hand, trying to curl his fingers toward his palm even if the movement felt painfully weak and sluggish. None of the other motor relays would fire at all, leaving the weapons specialist wondering if he was sending the signals correctly or if there was some other reason for him to be paralyzed.

However, that unsettling feeling quickly began to fade as some of the previously unresponsive relays started to come online, apparently stimulated by the increase in neural activity. Ironhide let out a grunt as his systems finalized their default parameters and switched over control of his ventilation and cooling systems from autonomic to voluntary. His sensory pathways were coming online now as well, and he then became aware of the fact that he was lying prone on a flat metal surface. He tentatively braced his arms underneath himself, trying to make sense of the onslaught of data that his sensors were providing him with.

His could tell that he was in an unfamiliar room, and that there was another mech standing a short distance away. Ironhide did not recognize the mech's spark signature, but his CPU did not designate it as a threat and so he did not react to it. Instead, the weapons specialist focused his attention on coordinating the movements he needed to push himself up, a task that required much more effort to accomplish than he thought it should have.

Then he shifted, unsteadily lifting a hand to his optic, which felt distinctly painful, and covering his face to reduce the amount of incoming light, which was already starting to give him a tinge of a headache. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he dropped his arm to his side and turned to look at the other mech in the room.

The mech was merely standing there, watching him with the apparent confidence of one who had nothing to fear. However, Ironhide did detect a slight flicker of uncertainty when the mech called out his designation.

"Ironhide?"

The mech's voice sounded unusually harsh and grating to Ironhide's tired audios, causing the weapons specialist to turn away and place a hand over his face again in a meager attempt to gain some kind of reprieve when everything around him seemed to be an irritant. "What do you want?"

After a brief pause, the mech replied, "I wish to help you."

"Leave me alone."

There was another pause, this one significantly longer, until the mech responded with a subdued, "I am afraid I cannot do that."

Ironhide did not move from his position slouched over the berth and covering his face. He was tired, that tinge had turned into a splitting headache, and he was not in the mood for anything right now. "Why the frag not?" he bit back, somewhat agitated.

"Because," the mech spoke gently, kindly, apparently trying to elicit a state of calm in the weapons specialist, "a very close friend of mine owes his life to you. I cannot leave you here, not like this, in good conscience."

Ironhide paused at that, his cooling fans kicking on with a loud whir to cool his rapidly heating frame. He did calm down incrementally in the few seconds it took for his core temperature to no longer feel so hot, then he turned to look at the larger mech. None of what the mech had said made any sense to him, yet in a strange way it did not seem completely unfamiliar either. "Do I know this friend of yours?"

The mech hesitated, almost as if he was not sure how he should answer that question. He glanced away from Ironhide just long enough to gather his thoughts, and when he finally replied, an almost imperceptible trace of regret colored his deep and velvety voice. "No, I do not believe that you do."

Ironhide nodded once, wondering whom this flame-patterned red and blue mech was referring to and what situation could have brought them together. It was quite disconcerting for Ironhide to realize that he could not clearly remember anything that had happened prior to the past several breems or so, when he had onlined, and that he still did not know who this mech was that was speaking with him.

"What is your designation?" Ironhide asked, his helm tilted in an expression that was somewhere between curiosity and confusion. The mech seemed slightly relieved at the change in Ironhide's demeanor, perhaps pleased that the weapons specialist was reaching out to him rather than shying away.

"My designation is Optimus," the mech replied, holding out his hand in an unspoken offer to help Ironhide up off the berth. "We should go if you feel able to. Can you walk?"

Ironhide slid over to the edge of the berth, hesitantly taking Optimus's hand and hoisting himself up to a standing position. "I believe so."

However, no sooner had the weapons specialist uttered those words than he lost his balance and stumbled forward. Optimus caught him, bearing most of Ironhide's weight and preventing him from falling onto the floor.

"Easy," Optimus said, keeping one arm wrapped securely around Ironhide's chest and using the other to help steady him. "Take a moment to reset your gyro sensors."

Ironhide did as he was told, that nauseating moment of dizziness quickly passing even if the headache still persisted. He dimly registered the fact that someone else was approaching the room, but as Optimus did not seem that concerned about it, Ironhide was not either.

"Is that better?" Optimus asked, sensing that Ironhide was in better control of his faculties.

"Yes," Ironhide replied. "I think I'll be all right now."

Optimus loosened his grip and stepped away slightly, but he still kept one hand near Ironhide's arm in case the weapons specialist faltered again and needed his assistance.

Both mechs looked up as the unknown Cybertronian finally arrived, carefully edging his way into the tiny room. Ironhide watched the brightly-colored mech with guarded curiosity, his sensors telling him that the mech was not armed at all. Curious, considering that Optimus was well-armed.

The newcomer stopped just shy of Optimus, glancing at the larger mech in some form of unspoken communication. Optimus's only response was a subtle shake of his helm, the significance of which Ironhide did not know but the weapons specialist filed it away in his data banks anyway, his CPU hungrily devouring every bit of information he could get in order to supplement the relatively limited amount of data in his memory core.

"Ironhide," Optimus spoke, drawing Ironhide's attention away from the fluorescent mech, "this is Ratchet, my medic. Would it be all right if he assesses your condition?"

Ironhide seemed less than comfortable with that idea, eyeing the medic warily. "What for?"

"Because you were injured," Ratchet explained, trying to appeal to the black mech's sense of logic, "and because we don't know what damages you may have incurred. Even you are not aware of what happened, are you?"

Ironhide hesitated for a moment. He was starting to remember bits and pieces, but only vague images and unintelligible sensory data. Nothing was coherent. "No, I'm not," the weapons specialist admitted, shifting his weight slightly.

"Well, there will be time for explanations later," the medic assured him, "but right now, we need to focus on getting somewhere safe. Will you trust us to take you there?"

Ironhide glanced away, blinking a few times as if some particulate matter had suddenly bothered him, but then he shifted his gaze back to Ratchet. "Why is it not safe here?"

Optimus stepped forward then, lightly touching Ironhide's arm and speaking gently, "Ironhide, there will be much that you do not understand yet. However, it is important that you know we are intruders here, and that you trust us, because we may cross paths with individuals who will be hostile toward us and they may attempt to tell you things that are untrue."

Ironhide paused, his gaze flickering to the ground as he processed everything that had been said. Optimus and Ratchet gave him time to think, fully aware of the fact that Ironhide's willingness to cooperate was contingent on it being _his_ decision, and that rushing him would likely do more harm than good even considering that every second they spent here was a second closer the Decepticons could be to finding them. At least Jazz was in the hallway, so there would be no surprises.

"Then I will trust your word," Ironhide finally spoke. "What is it you want me to do?"

Ratchet was extremely relieved at that, letting out a quiet vent of air that he did not even realize he had been holding. "First," he began, taking a cue from Optimus, "I need to make sure that you are fit to travel. All I need you to do is hold still for about five seconds while I scan your frame."

Ironhide nodded. "Very well."

"Optimus, step back please." Ratchet then proceeded to do the scan, Ironhide's ruby optics tracking him the entire time but the weapons specialist did remain unmoving otherwise.

_"He will be able to walk, but not run,"_ Ratchet transmitted to his leader. _"I also have my doubts as to whether he will be able to transform without doing more damage. It would be best to avoid any situation that would require it if at all possible."_

Acknowledging through the comm link, Optimus also sent the information to Jazz.

"All right." Ratchet put his scanner away, folding it back into his forearm and glancing up to address Ironhide. "We'll need to take it easy, but you should be able to keep up without any problems. Just follow Optimus's lead, and let us know immediately if something starts bothering you."

The weapons specialist nodded again, this time not using any words to convey his agreement.

"We have another mech keeping watch out in the hallway," Optimus added, not mentioning Prowl yet to avoid overwhelming Ironhide with too much new information. "His designation is Jazz."

"Jazz?" Ironhide echoed, stepping forward as Optimus turned to leave and Ratchet urged him to go next.

"Yes. Are you familiar with the designation?"

Ironhide shook his head, getting the distinct feeling that he may have heard it before but that any information associated with it was just not there. It was frustrating to the black mech, but he did not let it slip into his voice as he answered with a simple, "No."

As the trio of mechs stepped out into the hallway, everything new to Ironhide's sensors, the weapons specialist got his first glimpse of the silver mech that must be Jazz. The mech was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his visored face impassive and expressionless, most of his facial features obscured from Ironhide's view. The weapons specialist had an immediate dislike for him, although he did not understand why.

Jazz pushed himself off the wall, his demeanor becoming friendly as he approached. He greeted Optimus and Ratchet first, then took a step toward Ironhide to introduce himself.

"Hey, 'Hide," the minibot said, flipping his visor up so the weapons specialist could clearly see his face. "I'm Jazz. My job is basically to make sure that we stay safe, so I'll be doing most of the security stuff."

To everyone's surprise, Ironhide merely stared at Jazz, narrowing his optics before taking a step back and staring even longer. Ratchet glanced anxiously at Optimus, relieved that the red and blue mech was keeping a close optic on Ironhide and the Decepticon's unusual reaction. He had not done it with Optimus or Ratchet.

"You, I've seen you," Ironhide said in a low growl, his voice sounding dangerously suspicious. "And your designation isn't Jazz."


	24. Chapter 24

It was a moment of tense silence, Ironhide continuing to glare and Jazz resisting the urge to take a precautionary step back. The silver minibot did not want Ironhide to think that he had any reason to fear him, yet at the same time, the weapons specialist was downright intimidating for a mech that had basically just onlined for the first time. At least Jazz could thank Primus that the mech was not armed...

"Ironhide, stand down."

Optimus's words were soft but they carried an unmistakable note of finality, one which Ironhide understood but was not yet ready to heed.

"He's not who he says he is," the black mech retorted, refusing to take his optics off Jazz. "You shouldn't trust him."

Jazz for his part said nothing, knowing that any rebuttal would only fuel Ironhide's distrust. No, he would have to let the others handle this one...

"What do you mean, 'his designation isn't Jazz'?" Ratchet asked, his voice calm and steady despite the fact that he was internally quite concerned. Even when Ironhide was a full-fledged Decepticon, Ratchet had not seen him react so strongly to anyone.

"I meant exactly what I said," the weapons specialist huffed, turning his upper body away slightly but keeping his head turned toward the minibot. "His designation isn't Jazz."

Ratchet dared to ask, "Then what is it?"

Ironhide glanced away for a split second before returning his crimson gaze to Jazz, narrowing his optics as if daring the silver mech to make even the slightest move. Jazz still stood silently, his hands held at about waist level in an attempt to placate the larger mech without angering him any further.

"His designation is Meister," Ironhide said, though the name seemed to come to him with some difficulty. However, the weapons specialist did seem sure of his characterization. "He's a con artist and a hacker. Has been since he was youngling."

"I don't go by that anymore," Jazz replied carefully. "Haven't for a long time."

That was news to Ratchet, who had never known Jazz as anything other than Jazz. Ironhide merely growled and stepped back, obviously not believing a word of what the silver mech said.

"Ironhide," Optimus raised his voice slightly, but only enough to get Ironhide's attention. "Jazz is one of us now. What you are recalling is, for all intents and purposes, ancient history."

Ratchet blinked. Optimus knew too?

"Then tell him to keep his distance," Ironhide responded, his armor relaxing slightly. "You might trust him, but I don't."

"Ironhide, th—"

"It's okay, OP," Jazz cut in. "If he wants me to keep my distance, I'll keep my distance." Jazz also added through the comm link, _"He'll come around. Let's just make it easy until then."_

Optimus shifted, nodding once. "Very well. Jazz, lead the way."

/* * */

Ironhide calmed down after that, with Jazz walking a fair distance ahead and the other two mechs close at the weapons specialist's side. Their progress was slow but steady, limited mainly by the fact that they were walking and because Ironhide did periodically need to stop and rest for a breem or two.

The weapons specialist was not talking much, nor did the Autobots try to pressure him, but Ratchet had a lot to say to a certain silver mech and so they politely held their conversation in private.

_"He liked me better when he was a full-fledged Decepticon,"_ Jazz transmitted wryly over the comm link, always looking at the humorous side of things and eliciting a tiny smirk from Ratchet. _"Maybe we should let him stay a 'Con even if he decides to stick with us."_

_"Very funny,"_ Ratchet replied. _"So_ _what's with the sudden change?"_

_"Well, to put it lightly,_ " Jazz began, arming his weapon as he prepared to clear another corner, _"I used to be a bit of a troublemaker when I was younger. He must've remembered that much."_

_"He must have remembered quite a bit to dislike you that much,"_ the medic noted. _"Either that, or you must have been a very memorable mech. I never even knew_ _you had a different designation."_

There was no one in the next corridor so Jazz continued on, trying to keep his steps light and quiet on the hard metal floor. _"Yeah, most mechs don't know that. It all happened a long time ago and the ones that helped me out of it did a good job making sure that the past stayed the past."_

Ratchet made a mental note to ask Jazz more about that later, if the silver mech wanted to talk about it. _"But Ironhide knew you back then?"_

_"Must have,"_ Jazz replied. _"You know how he was a temple guardian? Well, I used to break in there all the time. I don't remember him but he had to have been there then."_

The medic transmitted the equivalent of blank stare. _"Tell me you're not talking about the Simfur Temple?"_

_"Yeah, that's the one."_

_"Jazz!"_ Ratchet fumed through the privacy of the comm link. _"That is a historical site!"_

_"Take it easy, Doc 'Bot,"_ Jazz replied, his demeanor as cool as ever. _"I never meant anything by it."_

"Primus, nothing is sacred with you around..." Ratchet did not realize that he had spoken aloud until the last word slipped out of his mouth, earning him an amused glance from Optimus and a baffled stare from Ironhide.

"What?" the weapons specialist asked innocently even as the group continued to walk ahead.

Ratchet waved a hand. "Never mind."

Ironhide let it go without a fuss, which did not surprise Ratchet since the black mech had basically stopped speaking unless he was spoken to first. Whether it was due to the mech's dislike of Jazz or the stress of the unfamiliar situation, Ratchet did not know.

_"So why did he like you better as an Autobot?"_ the medic continued his conversation with Jazz, still genuinely curious and seeing that Ironhide had shifted his attention away again. It seemed unlikely that Ironhide's memory core had been tampered with prior to the events of the last few joors, however that did not explain why Ironhide had not seemed to have a problem with Jazz while in Autobot custody.

_"My best guess,"_ Jazz responded, _"is that Ironhide got used to the idea of me being an Autobot. I mean, I calmed down a lot since then and it's been_ _a few decavorns now, so that must have given him enough time to accept that I'm not who I was."_

_"Well, kudos to you for doing that,"_ Ratchet said in a rare moment of commendation. _"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it from you."_

Jazz did not reply right away, either because he was busy or he did not know what to say, but as soon Ratchet saw the the silver mech step out into the next corridor, he heard a weapon power up. They all froze, Jazz in the intersection of the two corridors and Ratchet, Optimus, and Ironhide out of sight behind the wall. Ratchet had no idea what Jazz was facing around the corner, but he heard the silver mech curse.

"Ah, scrap..." Jazz lifted his hands placatingly, having not kept his weapons armed and having no time to do it now.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

Ratchet recognized the voice then, and although it was not the worst mech they could have ran into, it was definitely a close second.

"It's just me, Starscream," Jazz responded, not giving any indication that his teammates were nearby. He certainly hoped that the cloaking devices they were wearing would keep them off the air commander's radar.

"Is that so?" Starscream stated more than asked as he stepped closer. "And what brings you to my little corner of Cybertron?"

Starscream was keen at catching lies, Jazz knew. There was probably nothing he could say that the Seeker would believe. "Does it matter?"

Starscream laughed. "I suppose not. After all, I do have a fairly good idea."

Jazz scoffed, although he knew that they were probably in deep now. "And what would that be?"

"You are your little team are here to break out Ironhide," Starscream said, pointing his blaster right at Jazz's chest. "It's quite impressive that you managed to get in here."

"You were never the type to give compliments," Jazz spat, standing his ground and refusing to let the Decepticon intimidate him.

"And you always had a sharp tongue," Starscream retorted. He pushed his blaster against Jazz's chest, his expression becoming hard. "Back up."

When Jazz refused, Starscream pushed him back. "I said back up!"

Jazz stumbled back, glaring at Starscream. However, the Seeker wisely checked around the corner.

Optimus chose that moment to arm his weapon, pointing it at Starscream. "Starscream," he said, keeping Ratchet and Ironhide behind him.

"Ah, there they are," Starscream purred, knowing full well that he was completely safe with Jazz as an insurance policy. "Autobots are like scraplets. There's never just one."

Receiving nothing but a derisive snort from Jazz in response, Starscream continued. "It is quite unusual to see them with a Decepticon, though. Wouldn't you agree, Ironhide?"

"Leave him out of this," Ratchet hissed. "He doesn't even know who you are."

Starscream had a penchant for playing games, and Ratchet could tell that it was already making Ironhide nervous. The weapons specialist shifted his weight and glanced nervously between the Autobots and Starscream.

"You say that as if he knows who any of you are," Starscream bit back. "Hasn't he even stopped to question why you do not bear the same symbols that he does?"

"That's none of your concern," the medic replied.

"Well, considering that he is a member of my faction and not yours, I happen to think it is."

Ratchet knew that Starscream was trying to trying to take advantage of Ironhide's naivety, trying to make the black mech turn against them, but with the weapons specialist still saying nothing, it was hard to tell if it was working.

"What do you want, Starscream?" Optimus demanded, not intending to lower his weapon until Starscream at the very least took his sights off Jazz.

"Well," the Seeker began, "let's just say that I don't think you would believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Starscream paused, eyeing the Autobot leader as if questioning whether or not it was even worth the time to state his demand. "All right. What I want is you, the entire sorry lot of you, to disappear."

/* * */

"What kind of joke is that?" Ratchet snapped. While none of the Autobots had believed what Starscream said, Ratchet was the most vocal in voicing his dissent. "Do you really expect us to believe that you're just going to let us walk out of here?"

"I couldn't care less what you believe," Starscream snapped back, glaring at the medic in the process. "Take it or leave it. That's my offer."

"And what exactly do you get out of it?" Jazz asked, knowing that Starscream would only do things if he had something to gain.

"It's quite simple," Starscream explained. "Ironhide was always too stuck on his misguided ideals. Megatron seems to think that we have some use for him anyway but as far as I'm concerned, we would be better off if he was gone. If it would have been up to me, I would have left him in that ravine."

Jazz looked extremely upset. "You sparkless—"

"Jazz, enough," Optimus cut him off before anything could get out of hand.

"He just wants to be the only high-ranking officer!"

"I said enough," Optimus repeated more sternly, casting Jazz a hard look. Jazz shut his mouth then, knowing that Optimus was completely serious.

"Tell your little runt to stay quiet before I change my mind," Starscream hissed. "I could just as easily deliver all of you Megatron."

"What's to say that you won't send him right to us anyway?" Ratchet asked, although not with the same bite that Jazz had spoken with. "You can't tell me that Megatron would believe that we just 'got away'."

"That's why I'm going to make it believable." Starscream smirked. "I'll say that I tried to reason with you, but you just wouldn't listen..."

Then, without warning, Starscream opened fire.


	25. Chapter 25

The barrage of gunfire lasted only for a second. Jazz ducked, snapping his weapons into place and firing off a few shots of his own at the now-retreating form of Starscream, the cowardly Decepticon having transformed into his jet mode and high-tailing it in the other direction without even flicking a sensor back to see if he hit anyone. Optimus did not bother firing at the Seeker, saving the fight for another orn and choosing instead to try to shield Ratchet and Ironhide.

"Is everyone all right?" Optimus asked, wiping the energon away from a small scrape on his forearm where one of Starscream's rounds had grazed him.

"Fraggin' coward," Jazz muttered quietly, still glancing in the direction that Starscream had gone. Then he flipped his visor up and turned to Optimus. "Didn't get me, though. I guess that counts for something."

Optimus nodded, then turned toward Ratchet and Ironhide. "Ratchet?"

"I'm fine," the medic replied, his own attention focused on Ironhide, "but I think he may have hit Ironhide."

Ironhide glanced up then from where he had been staring at the floor, one hand pressed tightly against his side as he backed up to the wall and leaned heavily against it, shuttering his optics and drawing in a sharp vent of air.

"Easy, now." Optimus stepped toward the weapons specialist, seeing if Ironhide would object to him taking ahold of his arm. When he did not, Optimus used that to assist Ratchet in lowering him to the ground.

Ironhide remained non-verbal through it all, prompting Ratchet to try to get him to say something, _anything,_ that might clue them in to what he was thinking or feeling. He started with a very simple, "Ironhide, are your diagnostics functioning?"

A few seconds passed and Ratchet thought that perhaps Ironhide had not heard him, but then the black mech shifted and opened his optics. He cast a quick glance at Ratchet but then averted his gaze to where the injury was, lifting his hand to reveal a brightly-stained palm. More energon was already beginning to trickle down his side, the tiny rivulets flowing freely now that the pressure that had been stopping them was gone.

Ratchet cursed under his breath, flipping out his medical scanner from his forearm and quickly running a sweep over the area. Optimus continued to hold Ironhide's other arm and Jazz watched from a distance, seeing no reason to get too close to the injured warrior when Ironhide had already made it abundantly clear that he was not comfortable with the silver mech's presence.

"It burned through the armor, but it's not life-threatening," Ratchet announced, putting his scanner away and encouraging Ironhide to put his hand over it again. "Keep some pressure on it."

Jazz cocked an optic ridge. "You're not gonna weld it?"

Ratchet shook his head. "I can't weld it without a numbing agent. It would be too painful."

"You don't have your kit?"

"They took everything I had in subspace. I knew they would so I didn't bring it."

Jazz tapped his foot on the floor, obviously contemplating something. "Okay. Where can we find what we need?"

Ratchet thought about it for a moment. "I would say the supply room. There's the least chance of anyone seeing us, and it should have everything we need."

"Jazz," Optimus asked over his shoulder, the silver mech behind him, "do you see a supply room on your map of the facility?"

The hallway was silent as Jazz accessed the information. "Yeah. There's one on the fifth floor—"

"Just do it," Ironhide interrupted Jazz, though he was looking at no one in particular.

Everyone glanced at Ironhide, those three short words being the first to escape his vocoder since he went silent after telling them about Jazz's past history. Ratchet shifted slightly from where he was kneeling on the smooth metal floor, addressing Ironhide first even if he had no idea what the weapons specialist was referring to.

"I'm sorry?"

"Just do the weld. Without the numbing agent," Ironhide clarified, looking up to meet Ratchet's optics. The black mech looked tired, but the tiniest hint of that self-confidence that Ratchet remembered so well from him seemed to have seeped back into his demeanor. He was not afraid.

Ratchet studied him carefully. "I'm afraid I can't ethically do that given the current circumstances. If things get worse, then perhaps, but not now."

Ironhide seemed to accept that, though he said nothing in response. Ratchet turned to Jazz.

"Jazz, I'm sending you the specifications of exactly what we need. Do you think you could get it from the supply room and bring it back here? Ironhide shouldn't be moving around. It wouldn't be good for him and a trail of energon will certainly attract attention."

The silver minibot nodded. "I can do that, Ratch." Then he turned to his leader. "Optimus, I assume you're staying here in case any 'Cons show up?"

"That is correct, Jazz," Optimus replied. "However, notify Prowl of the situation and make sure he is in a position to assist you should it become necessary."

"Will do. I'm sure Prowler's getting bored out there by now anyway," the minibot jested as he turned to walk away. Then he waved a hand in farewell. "Wish me luck."

"We always do, Jazz," Optimus replied. "Be careful."

"Aren't I always?" Jazz responded from halfway down the corridor, his voice already sounding distant.

Ratchet snorted at that, although it was unlikely that Jazz heard him since the silver mech had already transformed and was quickly disappearing down the hallway in his light and agile vehicle mode. Jazz's definition of 'careful' may have been nothing like Ratchet's, but even the medic had to admit that Jazz was nothing less than a master when it came to getting himself out of seemingly impossible situations. It was the perfect skill for a mission like this and Ratchet was immensely grateful that Jazz had decided to come along for it.

Now, all that was left to do was wait for Jazz to return…

/* * */

Time passed quietly. The hallway they were in was certainly low-traffic, and it seemed that Starscream did indeed wish for them to escape unnoticed.

No alarms went off. No intruders came. All in all, it was as if this entire section of the base was completely devoid of any other mechs. Optimus shifted his weight, while Ratchet merely cast his gaze back to Ironhide again. Ironhide had shuttered his optics a little while ago, but whether it was to recharge or just rest, Ratchet did not know. It did not really matter anyway, since there was nothing that the black mech needed to be aware of right at that moment.

Ratchet however was keeping a close optic on Ironhide's most recent injury, one of many that the weapons specialist simply did not need. Ratchet did not expect the damaged lines to fully seal themselves anytime soon, but he was a bit concerned that they did not seem to be shunting the flow of energon at all. It could mean that there was something wrong with the weapons specialist's self-repair program or another higher-functioning system.

Ironhide had not had that problem before, and Ratchet was already running through a mental list of possible causes and trying to determine which was the most likely given the events that had transpired...

Suddenly, alarm bells started going off in the hallway, the already dim lights darkening to an eerie shade of red. Ratchet and Optimus froze, the blue in Optimus's armor now appearing black whereas the medic's armor looked red everywhere, and Ironhide unshuttered his optics, his appearance largely unaffected by the change in lighting.

_"Jazz,"_ Optimus transmitted over the comm link, shifting just enough to face slightly more toward the adjacent hallway, _"what is your status?"_

There was a long pause and Ratchet tensed, not realizing that he was holding in an anxious vent of air as he waited for Jazz to answer. Ironhide must have noticed however, because he shifted uncomfortably despite the fact that he was not aware that anything was being said over the Autobot comm channel.

_"Jazz, report,"_ Optimus tried again.

_"Frag it all,"_ Jazz finally replied. _"I tripped the alarm."_

Ratchet had never been so relieved to hear Jazz's voice, but he was still concerned about what Jazz had said. _"Jazz, do they know where you are?"_ the medic asked.

_"At the moment, yeah,"_ the minibot replied, _"but I'll be long gone by the time they get here."_

_"All right. Get back here now."_

_"I'm already on it,"_ Jazz responded. _"Give me about five breems."_

_"Understood."_ Ratchet cut the connection, glancing anxiously at Optimus. And judging by the look on his leader's face, Optimus was just as concerned as he was.

_"Prowl,"_ Optimus sent over another transmission, looking away from Ratchet, _"we need to make a change of plans..."_

Ratchet shifted his attention back to Ironhide, trying to think of what he was going to say since the weapons specialist was doubtlessly wondering what was going on. But rather than looking back at him like the medic expected, Ironhide merely kept his optics lowered and he did not make any move at all. That was when Ratchet noticed that that trickle of energon from Ironhide's side seemed to be getting worse.

Either that, or Ironhide was getting fatigued trying to keep pressure on it.

"Here, let me help you."

Ironhide did look up as Ratchet put his hand over Ironhide's, but then he shifted his gaze back to the floor as Ratchet put pressure on it. He was definitely tired, that much was easy to see, and Ratchet idly wondered when the last time Ironhide had had a decent number of recharge cycles was. Chronic fatigue was not normal and he should have snapped out of the aftereffects of any sedative by now.

Ratchet knew that he himself needed a good recharge as well, but unfortunately they were a long way from home and it was not going to happen anytime soon.

"Ironhide," Ratchet asked, still hoping to get something out of the weapons specialist, "how are you feeling right now?"

Ironhide had closed his optics, and he sighed before answering, "I don't know."

Optimus and Ratchet shared a glance before Ratchet tried again to encourage the black mech to communicate. "Could you describe it at all, just generally?"

Ironhide still kept his optics closed. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Ratchet said nothing to that. While Ironhide had not been rude per se, he had made clear that he did not wish to talk.

Optimus said nothing either, and while Ratchet might have otherwise been tempted to take offense at the weapons specialist's dismissive behavior toward those trying to help him, he had to remember that Ironhide was not a very talkative mech even under good circumstances and right now he was in pain and surrounded by mechs whom he only knew as strangers. Had their situations been reversed, Ratchet probably would have been less than civil.

It was funny to think that such a trigger-happy Decepticon could actually be pretty good at keeping his cool. Why he had ever joined the Decepticons, Ratchet had no idea...

Just then, a faint noise from somewhere down the hallway forced the medic out of his idle thoughts, reminding him of where he was and making sure he did not forget just how volatile their situation had become. It was sheer luck that no Decepticons had stumbled across them yet.

Optimus carefully let go of Ironhide's arm, giving the mech some time to adjust before he rose to his full height and armed one of his weapons. "Ratchet, stay here."

Ratchet blinked in surprise before opening his mouth to protest. "But, Optimus—"

"Stay here," Optimus repeated, leaving no room for debate. "I need to verify that there is not a Decepticon threat. And if there is, they need not know that there are three of us."

Ratchet did not like it, but he trusted his leader's judgment. "Fine. But if you leave me stranded here without backup, I'm not letting you hear the end of it until we get back to Iacon."

Optimus smiled a little at that. "Very well, Ratchet. You have my word that I will not leave you stranded."

"Good. Don't forget it." Ratchet had to add that last bit, mainly to try to quell his own nervousness. "And for Primus' sake, please try to get back here in one piece."

"I will do my best," Optimus assured him. Then the flame-patterned mech turned and left, walking to the end of the hallway before carefully disappearing around the corner. For being a rather large mech, Optimus was certainly skilled at moving around quietly.

Ratchet watched the hallway for a second longer, then he turned to Ironhide.

The weapons specialist seemed a bit more alert now, glancing in the direction Optimus had gone with a curiosity that somehow reminded Ratchet of a vigilant cyberdog.

The kind that would tear you apart if you so much as stepped foot on its territory.

"Ratchet," Ironhide spoke then, looking away from the corridor and toward Ratchet, "what's… what's in Iacon?"

"That's where we reside," Ratchet explained. "Our base of operations is there."

"The Autobot base?" Ironhide asked.

Ratchet nodded. "That's right."

"But I'm not an Autobot," the weapons specialist keenly pointed out, apparently having picked up on enough of what Starscream said.

Ratchet noticed energon seeping out from between his fingers. "No, you're not," he answered simply, not wanting to complicate things but also hoping that Ironhide would continue seeking out answers to the things that were unclear to him.

"Then why do you want me to go with you?" Ironhide asked.

"Because," the medic replied, "you belong with us."


	26. Chapter 26

_"Ratchet, you need not be alarmed. It is only Jazz."_

Optimus's comm could not have come at a better time. Ratchet had just been toying with the idea of moving himself and Ironhide to a safer location, or at least one that was less conspicuous, and he had yet to decide if it would be prudent to go looking for his teammates or not. Perhaps acting on either idea would be foolish, but Optimus had been gone for nearly fifteen breems without any radio contact and Ratchet certainly did not want to be out in the open if anything had gone wrong.

The Autobot medic shifted, opening a comm link to respond to his leader's message. _"Thank Primus. What is your ETA?"_

To be honest, Ratchet wished they would have returned ten breems ago. He could not leave Ironhide, not even for one breem, but he could hardly travel with him either. The weapons specialist was recharging even now, or so Ratchet assumed, and the medic had been content to let him do so until the others returned.

_"Five breems,"_ Optimus replied. _"Jazz acquired what you need."_

Ratchet sent a digital acknowledgment and then closed the comm link, turning to face his unlikely companion.

"Ironhide," he said softly, "wake up."

Ironhide flinched at the sound of Ratchet's voice, but his ruby red optics when he did finally open them showed no trace of annoyance or anger, just... expectation. He was giving Ratchet his attention.

Ratchet held the other mech's gaze, his hand still pressed against Ironhide's side. "Are you doing all right?"

"Fine," Ironhide answered in a tone that sounded honest, though Ratchet doubted that the Decepticon was being completely truthful. Either that or the weapons specialist simply did not have enough of a frame of reference to answer such a question appropriately. Everything was relative, after all...

"The others will be back soon," Ratchet told him. "Then I can seal that damaged line."

Ironhide nodded, shifting slightly and looking away. Ratchet took the opportunity to do a quick visual scan of the mech, noticing that he had curled his far hand into a loose fist and he was subtly rubbing his palm with his fingers. Ratchet had never seen him do that before and it was not exactly a typical nervous habit, but it seemed to indicate that the black Decepticon was less than at ease.

"Ironhide, is something bothering you?" the medic asked.

Ironhide glanced at him for a moment but then quickly looked away, all but confirming Ratchet's suspicion. Ratchet put his free hand on Ironhide's arm to try to reassure him, but the weapons specialist refused to look at him.

"You're strong, you know that?" Ratchet said more than asked. "You'll make it through this just fine. I'm sure of it."

Ironhide kept his optics on the far wall. "I want... I want to go to Praxus," he finally said.

"Praxus?" Ratchet tilted his helm, having not expected that response. "Why do you want to go to Praxus?"

Ratchet knew from reading Ironhide's file that the stocky black mech was originally from Praxus, but it was not clear if Ironhide actually remembered that much. He obviously did not remember that Praxus had been destroyed several decavorns ago, but it was hardly the time for Ratchet to bring that up. Instead, the Autobot medic merely waited for Ironhide to continue.

When the weapons specialist seemed to lose his train of thought, Ratchet decided to try prompting him to continue. "Do you know someone from Praxus?"

Ironhide's gaze looked oddly distant now, the weapons specialist still glancing down the hallway. "I know someone from Polyhex," he replied, though he otherwise did not seem to be paying much attention to Ratchet anymore. Certainly not as much as he had been just a few breems ago.

"Ironhide, who do you know from Polyhex?" Ratchet asked after a moment, trying to see if he could get Ironhide to focus on him again. It was so much easier to evaluate a patient that was responsive than one that was not, and Ironhide's behavior had definitely altered enough to warrant a reevaluation.

Ironhide let out a vent of air, staring down the far hallway as if seeing some kind of invisible adversary. Ratchet found himself quickly becoming nervous, but his highly-receptive sensors picked up nothing in any of the nearby corridors, even beyond what was in their line of sight, so the medic pushed his fears aside for the moment and focused instead on running a subtle scan across Ironhide's battered frame. Perhaps the weapons specialist was starting to show psychological signs from some underlying and undetected physiologic problem...

But Ratchet's scan found nothing significant, or at least nothing that the medic was not already aware of, and he was just about to start a psychological and cognitive assessment when the weapons specialist seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had been in. Ratchet soon realized why—he heard footsteps coming down the hall.

However, it was the opposite direction of where Ironhide had been so intent.

_"Optimus,"_ Ratchet transmitted, watching as Ironhide's sharp optics focused on the other corridor now, _"please tell me that's you and Jazz I hear."_

Optimus's reassuring voice came over the comm link just a moment later. _"Indeed it is, old friend. Have you noticed_ _any signs of Decepticon activity?"_

_"None,"_ Ratchet replied. _"And I'm not that fraggin' old yet."_

Optimus apologized, but Ratchet sensed that he was not truly sorry about it. And oddly enough, that did not bother the medic at all—although he would never admit it to anyone, Optimus was the only mech that Ratchet would tolerate nicknames from simply because the red and blue Prime could not be anything but sincere. It was just not in his programming.

Ironhide shifted, drawing Ratchet's attention back to him. The footsteps were coming closer now, and Ratchet only then realized that he should probably give the nervous Decepticon some kind of explanation. Ratchet was not used to having a comrade that was not on the same comm channel he was, that much was certain, and the Autobot medic suddenly found himself wondering if Ironhide was still able to pick up any Decepticon comm channels. Perhaps that was why the weapons specialist's demeanor had changed so quickly...

"Ironhide," Ratchet addressed him again, waiting until the black warrior at least flicked a glance in his direction before he continued, "Optimus and Jazz are coming."

Ironhide continued to look down the hallway for a few seconds more, then he met Ratchet's gaze and studied the Autobot medic for a moment. "Optimus and Jazz?" he echoed.

Ratchet nodded. "Yes. Do you remember them?"

Ironhide nodded, glancing in the direction of the incoming Autobots before he unexpectedly leaned into Ratchet's comforting presence, almost as if trying to turn his back to the outside world.

Not knowing what else to do, Ratchet simply tried to comfort him.

"Easy," the medic said. "It's all right."

Pressing against the medic's armor, Ironhide spoke softly, "I don't... I don't know what..."

Ratchet kept his voice even and reassuring. "What don't you know?"

But Ironhide was too flustered to answer the question, and that upset Ratchet. Whatever the Decepticons had screwed up was obviously causing the mech a lot of stress, and Ratchet did not believe that there was any excuse for it.

Ironhide was a good mech. He had not deserved what they did to him.

It was at that moment that Optimus and Jazz rounded the corner in the nearby hallway, the small silver mech close at his Prime's heels. Ratchet let out a sigh of relief and Ironhide glanced up to see them, but then the weapons specialist shied away.

Having seen Ironhide's reaction, the two Autobots stopped and looked at Ratchet. However, the chartreuse medic could only offer them a puzzled look in explanation.

Optimus stepped forward first. _"Ratchet, is something wrong?"_

_"I'm honestly not sure. He just started acting restless,"_ Ratchet informed his comrades, Jazz stepping forward now too. Then Ratchet continued, _"At the very least he's afraid and overwhelmed, so just act normal. I believe that would be more reassuring to him than anything else right now."_

Neither Optimus nor Jazz acknowledged Ratchet's comm, but the medic knew that they had heard him. Optimus approached much as he had the first time he interacted with Ironhide, while Jazz prudently stayed a short distance behind him. It did not matter that Ironhide was covering his face and could not see them, since he was most certainly keeping track of their movements with his other sensors.

Ratchet could feel the weapons specialist tense as Optimus knelt down beside him.

"Easy," Optimus said as Ironhide lifted his helm to look at him, his red optics darting across the larger mech's features, analyzing him.

"Ironhide, just relax," Ratchet added gently, urging Jazz to come a bit closer and shifting himself so he would be in a better position to provide medical care. "You have my word that they aren't going to harm you."

Ironhide did seem to relax slightly, leaning some of his weight against Ratchet again, but he still did not uncurl himself from his guarded position. Apparently he was not yet ready to trust the blue and red Cybertronian. Ratchet was mildly surprised by that, especially since Optimus was—for all practical purposes, at least—the first mech Ironhide had interacted with.

_"Optimus,"_ Ratchet transmitted, _"just so you know, I am a bit concerned that Ironhide may be picking up the Decepticon comm channels. He hasn't said anything about it but his behavior indicates that it's a possibility."_

Optimus nodded so slightly that anyone not looking for it would have missed it. _"Understood,"_ he responded, shifting just enough to draw Ironhide's attention as Ratchet removed his hand from the weapons specialist's side to inspect the wound.

Ironhide seemed oblivious to the fact that Ratchet was doing anything, which suited Ratchet just fine. He glanced up at Jazz, covering the injury which had immediately begun to drip energon. "You got everything?"

Jazz nodded, producing the items from subspace. "Yep. You want me to give 'em to Optimus?"

The silver minibot did not need to say that it was because Ironhide probably did not want him to come any closer.

Ironhide however was pretty much staying focused on Optimus, although he did glance away as Ratchet put some pressure on his side again. It had to hurt, Jazz thought, but the weapons specialist was doing a darn good job of not showing it if Jazz had to say so himself.

"Give me the neural inhibitor," Ratchet instructed him, his optics on Ironhide, "but give the rest to Optimus. I won't need it right away."

Jazz nodded, slowly stepping forward and gingerly handing the small tube of neural inhibitor to Ratchet. Ironhide watched him but said nothing, appearing almost disinterested in what was going on now. Ratchet noted it but did not try to make any kind of diagnosis, because it was useless until he could get a better idea of what was going on _inside_ Ironhide's processor.

_"He doesn't seem to want to talk much when you're around, Jazz,"_ Ratchet pointed out, his voice almost teasing as he pulled the cap off the neural inhibitor. _"How much of a troublemaker were you?"_

Jazz chuckled lightly. _"Apparently enough,"_ he replied. _"But hey, it could be worse. At least he's not shooting at me."_

_"Hopefully that isn't only because he can't,"_ Ratchet had to throw in there, the absence of Ironhide's wrist-mounted weapons all too apparent to the Autobot medic. He had yet to see Ironhide try to access that system, even reflexively, but that did not mean that the weapons specialist was not aware of the fact that something should have been there.

_"Very funny,"_ Jazz transmitted as he shot Ratchet a pointed yet comical look. _"So, does he talk much when I'm not around?"_

_"Not particularly,"_ Ratchet responded. _"But I can usually get something out of him."_

Jazz grunted curiously, stepping back to give Ratchet some space to work.

"Ironhide," Ratchet spoke up, squeezing the paste-like neural inhibitor into his hand, "this is a local neural inhibitor. I'm going to apply it to the injury on your side and then we need to wait for it to take effect, all right?"

Ironhide glanced away from Optimus to look at Ratchet, his entire demeanor noticeably lacking the guarded alertness that usually characterized him. He studied Ratchet impassively for a moment longer, then nodded his acceptance of what the Autobot medic wanted to do.

"Okay." Ratchet leaned forward, carefully but generously applying the shapeless mass of silvery-white paste to the Decepticon's side. Ironhide flinched as the unusual substance first contacted his damaged armor, but he still did not utter a word.

"Sorry," Ratchet apologized. "It might be a bit cold."

Ratchet knew that was not the real reason why Ironhide had flinched, but the weapons specialist seemed averse to showing pain and giving him an alternative explanation to agree with would hopefully prevent him from feeling any more uncomfortable than he already did. It was hard to know what Ironhide was thinking, so Ratchet merely tried to account for what seemed likely.

Ironhide settled down as Ratchet finished applying the neural inhibitor, the Autobot medic wiping it from his own hands as much as he could. Optimus leaned back slightly and Jazz relaxed against the far wall, while Ratchet picked up a small, sealed trauma dressing from where Optimus had set it down on the floor near him. Unwrapping it from the package, Ratchet then placed it under his hand and resumed putting pressure on Ironhide's injury.

Ironhide handled it well, as he always seemed to, merely relaxing his tense frame and allowing the chartreuse medic to do what he wished.

"So, Jazz," Ratchet began after a breem or two, continuing his and Jazz's earlier conversation with spoken words primarily to help break the silence as they waited for the medication to penetrate Ironhide's systems, "what in the Pit happened up there?"

Jazz shook his head. "Just a stupid mistake. I was thinking three steps ahead instead of paying attention to what I was doing at the time."

"It could happen to any of us," Optimus reassured him, sensing that Jazz was at least mildly upset about having basically tipped off the Decepticons that there were intruders roaming around their base. "We still have the element of surprise since the Decepticons do not know how many of us there are or where we are."

"Not yet," the silver mech responded, "but they're bound to find out if we hang around here much longer."

"I'm working as fast as I can," Ratchet cut in, his optics on his work as he began another scan, "but this isn't something you can rush. It takes five breems just for the neural inhibitor to kick in."

Ironhide remained silent, although he appeared to be following the conversation between Ratchet and Jazz at least somewhat intently. Optimus watched as Ironhide's gaze flickered from one to the other, pleased that the Decepticon weapons specialist no longer seemed so wary of the Autobots' head of intelligence.

"That long?" Jazz blinked in surprise, reaching up to rub behind his audial finials. "Frag. Maybe you should come up with something different."

Ratchet continued to run his scans, answering offhandedly, "Remind me to become a chemist."

Jazz laughed, brushing off Ratchet's gruff response and lightening the mood as he inwardly contemplated the task that lay before them. "I just might do that."


	27. Chapter 27

Curse his Pit-spawned luck—or at least, that was what Ratchet thought as he contemplated exactly how he had ended up in the middle of Kaon to provide medical care for a Decepticon that had nearly killed him. Oh, if he had known about this even an eighth of a vorn ago, he probably would have turned in his Autobot shields and said there was no way on Cybertron he was doing it.

But it was funny how things could turn out nothing like what one might expect. Frag, what he had just described fit his current situation perfectly, yet it did not even begin to cover what was really happening.

And sometimes, Ratchet himself was not even sure what was going on. Things happened and this led to that led to that, with no rhyme or reason in between. Ironhide was probably not actually that far behind when it came to knowing exactly what in Primus' name he was doing.

Ratchet glanced at the others. Everyone had gone silent several breems ago, Ironhide resting peacefully while Optimus and Jazz stayed alert for any signs that someone could be coming. Ratchet's hands were starting to bother him, the slight yet relentless tingling he now felt in his fingers letting him know that the neural inhibitor was starting to affect his own sensory net as well, even if he had wiped most of it off.

Ironhide was probably ready. Might as well get it done with.

Ratchet shifted before he broke the long-standing silence with his soft voice. "Ironhide," he said, "it's time I do the weld now."

He did not mention that if they waited too much longer, he would likely not have full use of his hands.

Ironhide also shifted, unshuttering his optics and dispelling any myths that he might have been in recharge. He glanced at Ratchet, pausing for a moment before he responded with an almost inaudible, "If you wish."

Ratchet did not reply, instead gathering the items he needed—some weld-through primer and a piece of temporary plating. Ironhide shifted to make the injury easier for Ratchet to get to, turning his right side toward the wall and leaning against it. Optimus proffered his hand so Ironhide could at least hold onto something instead of having to prop himself up off the floor, an offer which the weapons specialist tentatively accepted.

"This shouldn't hurt," Ratchet explained as he twisted off the cap on the weld-through primer and sprayed a light coat over the damaged area, "but you might feel some heat or even a very slight burning sensation from it. Let me know if it's too much and I'll stop."

Ironhide nodded ever so slightly, turning his head away and shuttering his optics. He was also circulating air a bit faster than Ratchet had known him to, suggesting that he was still far from relaxed.

But there was little Ratchet could do about it now. The best thing for the black warrior would be to get this repair over with so they could move on.

Ratchet did not know why he felt like he was hesitating. Perhaps it was because Ironhide seemed so unnerved about it.

Shaking it off, Ratchet fired up the welding tool built into his forearm.

Ironhide did not even flinch when the torch made contact with his side, soon cauterizing the torn line and sealing off the worst of the energon leaks. The line would still need to be replaced or Ironhide would not have proper circulation to that side, but it would get him by for the time being. At least until a proper repair could be made.

It only took a few breems for Ratchet to finish cleaning up the wound and then cover it with temp plating. The piece that Jazz had brought back happened to be a very dark slate gray, and while it did match Ironhide's paint at least decently well, Ratchet found himself inwardly hoping that the silver minibot had not spent any extra time locating it.

"All right," Ratchet said, pressing on the temporary plating with his hand to make sure it was sound and finding it to his liking, "we're done. Are you doing okay, 'Hide?"

Ironhide moved slightly, unshuttering his optics though he did not even turn to look at the repair that Ratchet had just made. "Fine," he replied, still giving Ratchet no real clue as to what he was thinking or feeling.

"Do you want to get up?" Ratchet asked him.

Ironhide nodded, letting go of Optimus to place his hands on the ground and gingerly push himself up. Optimus and Ratchet both helped him, each holding onto Ironhide's upper arms and supporting his back, and after a bit of an uncoordinated attempt at lifting the remainder of his own weight, Ironhide finally managed to stand.

"That's good," Ratchet praised him, making sure that Ironhide could balance before he completely let go. Then he glanced at Optimus, silently urging him to take the lead now that Ratchet's duty was over.

Optimus picked up on the subtle cue, turning to face Jazz who was leaning comfortably on the opposite wall.

"Jazz, is Prowl in position?"

Jazz nodded, pushing himself off the wall. "Yeah, he's ready. Said to let him know if we had any other problems, but so far, so good."

"So what is the new plan?" Ratchet asked, having honestly not been paying much attention when Optimus and Prowl had discussed the details.

Jazz gestured for the team to move forward. "Come on. I'll explain it on the way."

"The way to where?" Ratchet protested, always one to dislike not getting a straight answer but still not hesitating to move in the direction Jazz had indicated. Ironhide quickly fell into step behind the medic and Optimus brought up the rear, keeping a close optic on everything behind them.

"We're going to the freight elevator," Jazz responded after a moment, keeping their conversation out in the open so Ironhide could hear as well. "Then we're taking it to the sixth floor."

Ratchet stared at him even if the silver minibot could not see it. "I thought Prowl said that was a bad idea?"

"Yeah, he did, but I think I can hack it so it won't show that we're using it," Jazz replied. "Otherwise, we'd have to hope that we could make it up quite a few flights of stairs without anyone noticing us."

"Okay, so we take the elevator," Ratchet conceded. "Then what?"

"Well, the 'Cons know we're here, but they don't know where," Jazz explained. "So they're probably going to seal off the ground level and start searching for us there. Prowl's going to have the ship waiting outside the sixth level so we just need to meet up with him and take off."

Ratchet snorted derisively. "Sounds easy," he said, knowing it hardly ever was. "What if we run into problems?"

"Then we'll figure it out then," Jazz answered reassuringly, well aware of the fact that Ratchet tended to worry about every possible scenario. Jazz on the other hand was the type that preferred not to cross bridges until he came to them.

Ratchet was obviously not pleased with Jazz's answer but he said nothing more about it, instead letting the silver minibot lead them to the freight elevator. They arrived much sooner than Ratchet had expected, or perhaps the Autobot medic had simply lost track of where they were. It was hard to find one's bearings when absolutely everything looked unfamiliar.

Wasting no time, Jazz walked up to the large and imposing gated elevator, slipping his fingers underneath the metal cover on the control panel and prying it back with a visible amount of effort. Ironhide stood and watched, his dull black armor shiny in a few spots now that he had moved around enough to knock some of the dust and grime off, however he still looked like he had been to the Pit and back and Ratchet knew that by the time any Cybertronian had that kind of appearance, he definitely needed some time to rest and recover.

But to Ironhide's credit, he did look alert and active. Certainly a tough mech, Ratchet thought. No wonder Megatron did not want to lose him.

"Got it!" Jazz exclaimed, making Ratchet and Optimus turn to look him. "They won't even know we're using it."

"Good work, Jazz," Optimus commended him, stepping forward to help the smaller mech push the bulky steel gate aside. They had it almost all the way open when it scraped loudly against its own track, the piercing noise enough to make the Autobots temporarily mute their audio sensors while Ironhide reflexively reached up to cover the sides of his helm, the black mech apparently not knowing how to dampen his sensory input.

"Ah, scrap," Jazz cursed. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Ratchet responded, praying to Primus that no one else had heard that—or at the very least, that no one else would be able to reach them before they were gone. "Let's just get out of here."

"I'll second that," Jazz said enthusiastically, stepping into the elevator and waiting for his comrades to join him. Luckily there was more than enough room for all four mechs inside, but Ironhide stayed close to Ratchet nonetheless.

Jazz punched the key for the sixth floor, taking them up through the higher levels of the Kaon base. All of the Autobots were on high-alert when the elevator finally stopped at its destination, Optimus in particular checking to make sure no one was around.

"Clear," the flame-patterned mech announced, stepping out of the elevator and glancing around the corridor to try to determine exactly where they were. The maps he and his team had of this dimly-lit building were far from the most up-to-date, but they should still suffice for at least basic navigation.

Primarily, finding an exit.

"I think it might be over here," Jazz spoke up as strode past Optimus, heading to the right. "Should be some rooms on the outer wall that have windows."

Ratchet glanced at Optimus for a moment before following Jazz, as if silently bidding the red and blue leader to have a plan in case anything did go south. Ironhide followed shortly behind Ratchet, having already gotten used to being in the middle of the group and simply trying to do what was expected. Optimus was surprised at how quickly Ironhide seemed to be learning—he was no doubt cataloging every experience he had so he could draw on it later, and he could at least give the appearance of being comfortable and confident where he was.

But then again, the latter was a trait common to all Cybertronians. They were masters at blending in.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Ratchet asked even as he continued to follow his silver comrade, clearly skeptical about whether Jazz actually knew where they were going. It did all look the same, every Decepticon hallway hopelessly identical and just as featureless as the last, creating the unsettling illusion that in reality they had not gone anywhere at all.

"Ratchet," Optimus said gently from behind, "trust Jazz to do his job. He is very good at what he does."

Ratchet huffed, appearing to brush off his leader's advice but silently opening a comm link for privacy. _"I know. It's just... I don't want to be stuck here."_

_"You won't be,"_ Optimus promised him, knowing that Ratchet tended to fret more than the warriors did on missions like this. _"None of us will be. I intend to make sure of it."_

Ratchet relaxed slightly. _"Thank you, Optimus,"_ he replied, also finding himself a bit regretful that he had been directing most of his criticism at Jazz. But the silver minibot seemed to be far enough ahead that he had not heard it, or if he had, he must have trusted Optimus to remedy the situation.

But Ironhide certainly did hear everything that was spoken, and Ratchet had forgotten that the black mech might not take things the way Ratchet had intended. "You're right, Optimus," the medic said aloud, for Jazz's sake as much as Ironhide's. "I'm sure Jazz knows where we are."

"You're darn right I do," the saboteur playfully yelled back, cracking open one of the doors to reveal what looked like some kind of laboratory. "I think this'll be perfect."

Ratchet stepped forward, glancing at the rows of clean workbenches that he could see through the doorway. It certainly looked like a chemistry lab, or perhaps even an instructional facility or classroom.

Ironhide waited in the hallway as Optimus also moved forward to see what Jazz had found.

_"Prowl, come around to the eastern side of the building,"_ Optimus transmitted, stepping inside after Ratchet. _"There are three glass windows, directly opposite of a large brown building across the street."_

Optimus closed the comm link after Prowl acknowledged, turning to find that Ironhide was only hesitantly beginning to inch toward the room. Optimus held out his hand.

"Come on," the Prime said. "It's all right."

Ratchet also turned, the medic's attention having been momentarily focused on getting a mental tally of the equipment and supplies that were clearly visible in the room. There was not much, most of it presumably in drawers or cabinets, but some information was always better than none when it came to knowing what the Decepticons were up to.

Ironhide simply stared for a moment before he flinched almost imperceptibly, nothing obvious having elicited such a reaction, but then he stepped forward and took Optimus's hand.

It was reminiscent of a youngling, Optimus thought, and in a way Ironhide was one.

But no sooner had Ironhide stepped into the room, than a grating voice sneered from behind him.

"Did you really think it would be so easy, Autobots?"

Jazz and Ratchet froze, the medic behind a workbench and Jazz near the window, while Optimus and Ironhide both turned to see the mech that had spoken.

Optimus let out a low growl, his optics narrowing dangerously. "Megatron."

 


	28. Chapter 28

"Ironhide, get behind me," Optimus hastily ordered as he moved to block Ironhide from Megatron's line of fire. Much to the Prime's relief, Ironhide complied without question, stepping back to stand about halfway between him and where Jazz and Ratchet appeared to be frozen in time.

The Lord High Protector merely grinned as he stood just inside the threshold that marked the entrance to the lab, effectively blocking any chance of escape in that direction. His gunmetal gray armor glinted dully in the low light and it soon became clear that there was at least one other mech standing behind him, this one either black or so dark that he appeared so.

Megatron shifted his weight then, adopting an almost relaxed stance as he critically eyed all of the Autobots that were present.

Optimus could hear the weapons specialist shift his weight in response behind him.

"Optimus, who is that?" Ironhide asked.

"Allow me to introduce myself," Megatron spoke up before Optimus had a chance to reply. "I am Megatron, leader of the Decepticons. Optimus and I know each other quite well, wouldn't you say, Optimus?"

Megatron's borderline polite tone clearly vexed Jazz, the silver minibot quickly arming his weapon and pointing it directly at the Decepticon leader's spark chamber. "Cut the act, Megatron," he bit out, "or we'll see just how well you and _I_ know each other."

But Megatron did not react to the verbal assault, his demeanor cool and composed in a way that proved he was far more than just a loose cannon that had fallen into power. "Is this how you Autobots conduct yourselves?" he asked, making a false but quite convincing show of morality. "Threatening a fellow Cybertronian when he has done nothing to provoke you?"

Jazz hissed, his own usually level-headed manner seeming to quickly fall apart now that he was in Megatron's presence. He raised his voice, "We don't fraggin' need you to _provoke_ us—"

"Jazz, stand down," Optimus interrupted his comrade, seeing what kind of game Megatron was playing. The Decepticon leader knew that Ironhide had virtually no information to fall back on other than what was happening right then, and he was trying to use that to his advantage. Everything the Autobots did would be scrutinized and out of context, and Optimus had to make sure that Ironhide was not tricked into believing anything that was not true.

Megatron smirked as Jazz reluctantly lowered his weapon, the Decepticon leader clearly pleased at the position he was in. Ironhide still looked like he did not know what to think, and Ratchet had been carefully making his way closer to the window. Optimus stood his ground, calculating possible scenarios as he waited for Megatron to make the next move. The Decepticon leader certainly had the upper hand, but he was also equally bound by Ironhide's perceptions if he had any hope of regaining control of the weapons specialist without it turning into a struggle.

Even injured as he was, Ironhide still stood as a formidable mech.

"Optimus," Megatron spoke then, his weapons visibly offline, "Ironhide is not one of your kind. Release him back to me, to his own kind, and I will pardon you and your cohorts for trespassing onto Decepticon territory."

"You certainly didn't treat him like one of your own kind," Ratchet spoke up then, keeping his emotions in check better than Jazz had but still letting some of his passion slip into his voice. "You left him in a cell, battered and nearly offline, without even proper medical care. You clearly were not concerned for his well-being then and you certainly aren't concerned for it now."

"Ratchet, enough," Optimus interceded again, this time not wanting too much new information to overwhelm the weapons specialist. He turned his attention back to Megatron. "Megatron—"

"Optimus," Ironhide suddenly spoke up, "I wish to speak with him."

All of the Autobots stalled at that, Optimus in particular pausing for a very long moment before he finally granted permission with a single nod and moved aside to allow Ironhide a full view of the mech that claimed to be his leader.

Ironhide glanced at the large Decepticon curiously before he stepped forward to get a better look at him. Megatron merely held his ground and allowed himself to be studied, his own optics roving over the course features of Ironhide's face as the small group of Autobots waited in silence.

"You are a Decepticon?" Ironhide asked, a rather inane question considering that both mechs were bearing the same faction symbol.

But the Lord High Protector merely nodded. "Indeed."

Ironhide said nothing in response right away, venting just subtly harder than normal as his systems worked to reestablish themselves in his damaged frame. Ratchet could only imagine what Ironhide was thinking as he stood nearly motionless in front of the Decepticon leader, but then the weapons specialist did something that no one expected—he stepped even closer to Megatron and reached out to lightly touch the armor on the other mech's forearm. "And you know Optimus?"

"Yes, I do," Megatron replied, not commenting on Ironhide's actions although Ratchet was sure he had to be just as baffled about it as they were.

The weapons specialist continued his unusual behavior for a second or two before he finally withdrew his hand and stepped back toward Optimus. Then he closed his optics, appearing almost weary. Ratchet had to resist the urge to check on him, Megatron still too dangerously close. Hopefully the black warrior would be able to keep himself alert and upright without help.

But Ironhide did seem to be holding his own just fine, even if he could not help but show a little weakness. "Megatron, does... Ratchet, speak the truth?" he asked next, with a bit of difficulty.

Optimus suddenly saw what Ironhide was doing—the weapons specialist had established a baseline, and now he was testing Megatron against it to determine if the Decepticon leader was being honest. It was a mark of very high intelligence, one that Megatron would likely not be able to fool for very long.

"The Autobots aren't your friends," Megatron skillfully evaded the question. "Ratchet is a medic, and he certainly knew that you should have stayed in your recovery room to rest, yet he condoned dragging you out here in a plot to make you join the dwindling Autobot forces."

"That's a fraggin' lie!" Jazz yelled, raising his weapon again and pointing it at Megatron. The other Autobots ducked out of the way as Jazz powered it up in no idle threat, Optimus yelling at his subordinate.

"Jazz—!"

But Megatron fired before Jazz could even get a shot off, the blast hitting the silver mech in the shoulder and knocking him sideways with a startled yelp. Optimus armed his weapon and aimed it at Megatron, while Ratchet moved to attend to Jazz.

Ironhide watched all of this silently, glancing to the side as the mysterious dark mech slipped into the room otherwise unnoticed in the chaos, his profile all sharp angles and a mosaic of small armor panels that seemed to effectively hide his true shape. The mech circled around behind Ironhide, the weapons specialist turning to keep him in sight.

"Ironhide," Megatron called out then, at the same time that Optimus ordered Ratchet and Jazz to move out of the way. Ironhide glanced in the direction of the Autobots, his sensors detecting that Megatron was preparing to fire again. The weapons specialist felt a tingling sensation run down his back, and for the first time not trusting the cold logic of what his processor instructed him to do, he did what his spark was illogically but so undeniably compelling him to do—he jumped between them.

The powerful blast from Megatron's plasma cannon hit Ironhide squarely on the side, throwing the weapons specialist halfway across the room in a shower of sparks. He slammed into the wall-sized glass window which shattered instantly and rained down broken glass on both him and Jazz, the silver minibot having also gotten caught in the crossfire and the two mechs suddenly finding themselves falling from a sixth-story window.

Ironhide managed to grab onto a ledge a few seconds later, reaching out to grab Jazz as the silver minibot fell past him. Jazz grabbed ahold of Ironhide's arm just before he struck the side of the building and came to a jarring stop.

"'Hide!" the saboteur yelled as he dangled in mid-air. "Don't let go!"

"Wasn't planning on it," Ironhide responded, his voice strained as he tried to support both his weight and Jazz's. His side was burning too, but he could not twist around to try to relieve it. He glanced down, the street below so dark that he could not tell how far away it was. Even the building itself looked fuzzy and seemed to disappear into the darkness after just a story or two. Ironhide tried to utilize some of his other sensors, but he could not figure out how to access them. "Jazz, what's below us?"

"I'm scanning," Jazz answered as he tried to get at least some kind of foothold on the building.

Suddenly something touched Ironhide's hand, and looking up he saw that Optimus had climbed down from where he and Jazz had fallen, the red and blue mech hanging onto something higher up. Ratchet was nowhere to be seen, but Ironhide did hear the sound of a jet engine taking off above them.

"Hang on," Optimus said calmly, trying to get a good grip on Ironhide's wrist. Unfortunately even the Prime would not be strong enough to lift both Ironhide and Jazz one-handed, but he knew that he could at least help keep Ironhide from becoming fatigued.

The weapons specialist closed his optics, tucking his head against his shoulder as he gripped the cold surface of the ledge tightly. It looked to Optimus as if Ironhide was preparing to wait it out.

But then the unthinkable happened—he slipped off the ledge and out of Optimus's grip, and the Prime could not catch him.

"Ironhide! Jazz!"

Jazz cursed as they fell, the ground seeming to come entirely too fast. He could not imagine how any mech could be a flier, already getting a nauseated feeling in his tanks from the drop...

Or perhaps it was just the fear of hitting the ground.

Ironhide tried to right himself, apparently planning to land in a way that would minimize injury. He ended up hitting the concrete shoulder-first just milliseconds before the silver minibot did and although it was a jarring impact, nothing broke.

The same could not be said for Jazz, however.

Jazz felt one of the struts in his lower forearm snap as he hit the ground. His frame was much smaller and lighter than Ironhide's and it simply was not able to absorb as much of the force.

Jazz guarded the injury, stabilizing it with his other hand as he stay doubled over on the ground protectively. Then he glanced at Ironhide.

Ironhide was on his feet but looked stunned, appearing to stare at nothing as he stumbled to his hands and knees before righting himself again.

"'Hide, are you okay?" Jazz asked, his own voice shaky.

Ironhide did not seem to hear him, glancing up at the sky before looking back at the city. He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the mental fog.

Jazz tried again. "Ironhide, are you feeling okay?"

Ironhide looked right at him then, but rather than answering like Jazz expected him to, the weapons specialist transformed into vehicle mode and took off onto the street.

Jazz merely stared after him, at the faint dust cloud left in his wake, wondering if they had somehow gone through all this for nothing...


	29. Chapter 29

"Ratchet," Optimus said sternly, "Prowl and I made the decision to keep the ship hidden, lest the Decepticons know any more about what assets we have in their territory. What would you have rather we done?"

Ratchet drew in a large vent of air, calming down as quickly as he had become upset, his tone subdued now. "I don't know. Something. Anything."

"What we need to do now," Prowl said, "is get out of here before anyone else notices us or Megatron decides to either come back or send reinforcements."

Ratchet thought about that for a moment, steadying himself a bit before taking his hand off the ship and standing on his own. "Let me take a look at Jazz's arm first."

"It's not that bad, Ratch," Jazz spoke up, still cradling it with his other arm. "I'm sure it can wait 'til we're off the ground."

"Not that bad?" Ratchet scoffed. "Don't fraggin' lie to me. I know it's broken."

Jazz shut his mouth then, knowing that there was no arguing with a determined Ratchet. The medic stepped up to him, appearing much more steady now, while Optimus and Prowl kept an optic on their surroundings. They knew Ratchet would be quick, at the very least.

"You snapped the primary and secondary rods," Ratchet announced, scanning Jazz's arm as well as the rest of his frame. "Both clean breaks. Nothing else major."

"See, Doc?" Jazz replied as Ratchet put his scanner away. "Told ya it wasn't that bad."

"You're lucky Ironhide had the good sense to try and save your aft," Ratchet threw in, for once ignoring the nickname. "He doesn't even like you."

"Tell me about it," Jazz agreed. "Now how do we find him before Megatron does?"

"I don't know," Ratchet admitted, turning away. "For Primus' sake, why is the slagger so hard to keep out of harm's way? Just when I thought you were the worst, Optimus."

The Prime almost smiled at that, having been told by Ratchet more than once that he did not look out for his own personal safety enough. "There is not much we can do here. Let us return to the ship and reassess our strategy in the air, where we will be less visible."

"Sounds good to me," Jazz said as he moved toward the ship. "Anywhere the 'Cons can't see us. How high do we have go, Prowl?"

"Approximately 1,100 kliks," Prowl responded as he and the other Autobots followed Jazz. "We only have to worry about radar, not visibility."

"At least not until dawn," Ratchet added.

"Yes," Prowl agreed. "At least not until dawn."

/* * */

He drove along the mostly empty streets, not really knowing where he was going. The feeling of his tires on the pavement felt so unusual but yet so very familiar, and in a strange way he wanted to keep driving just so he could continue to feel it.

What if he went faster?

He gunned his engine, banking hard as he surged forward under a massive amount of torque.

He had only intended to get away from the confusion long enough to figure out what was going on, but he quickly became lost and now, not knowing how at all to return to the mechs that he had to a certain extent been dependent on, all he had to guide him was an increasingly pervasive desire to experience that which he had not felt before.

But some of the terrain he was seeing was starting to look familiar, and he slowed down just enough to get a better look at it. His thoughts again flickered back to the mechs he was no longer with, their faces fuzzy and indistinct but somehow firmly seated in his processor. For a fleeting moment he had an urge to return to them, but it was gone as suddenly as it had come.

Should he try to return to them? And was this the way to get there?

So focused he was on studying the architecture around him, trying to determine if he had indeed seen it before, that he did not even notice that he was being observed by a mech only a block away.  
Until the mech called out his designation.

"Ironhide..."

Ironhide rolled to a stop, that voiceprint not in the relatively small database he had created for himself of mechs he had spoken to. He was curious, yet he also remembered the burning pain in his side from his last experience with a stranger. It was not completely gone yet and he was certainly a bit wary because of it, but in the end his desire to know more got the best of him. He approached cautiously, flanking the mech and keeping him a moderate distance away.

The mech was also of a dark color, stocky and well-built, standing in robot mode despite Ironhide's choice to stay in vehicle mode, and he did not seem flustered by Ironhide's suspicion.

"Who are you?" Ironhide asked.

"Someone who knows you," the mech answered. "Someone who can teach you the things you need to know."

Ironhide hesitated at that, scrutinizing the other mech carefully. "And what do I need to know?"

"Come, and I'll show you," the mech replied. "It won't take long."


	30. Chapter 30

It was some kind of industrial building, that much was certain. Not that there was a lot different about it compared to the others, all of them silhouetted against the hazy glow of light pollution and reflected in a shimmering but foggy pool of some kind of liquid that was far beyond, but this building captured his attention because it was dominated by an unusual structure that appeared to be some kind of massive pile driver, every blow eerily silent due to the great distance and the multi-layered panels of glass that separated him from it, but the sheer force that had to exist there was still making him uneasy.

Ratchet leaned with his arm against the ship's window, continuing to look out at the vast and distinctly foreign landscape below that promised to be nothing if not one of the most intimidating challenges they had ever faced. A major obstacle and he did not even remember how he had ever summoned the courage to come here, nor did he know why it seemed to be bothering him so much now. What he had been feeling most recently he would almost classify as fear.

It made no sense.

But at least he was not alone—he had already splinted Jazz's arm, and now the saboteur was standing near the cockpit and talking to Prowl and Optimus. So far no one had any real ideas for how to locate Ironhide, although that was probably because there really _was_ no good way to locate him. Not as long as the mech was wearing a Decepticon-engineered cloaking device, anyway.

Even a thorough grid search through every last dark corner of Kaon would be of little practical use considering that Ironhide was mobile.

Not that they had anything near the resources for that kind of undertaking, anyway. And as much as Ratchet did not want to admit it, they had already spent far more time and resources on Ironhide than what most Autobots would find prudent.

But Optimus had not called off the chase yet, and the Prime had seemed supportive of the idea of Ironhide joining their ranks before it was even known if that would be a possibility. Frag, that seemed so long ago now...

“Hey, Ratch.”

Ratchet looked up to see Jazz approaching him, the smaller mech not holding his gaze for very long before he glanced out the nearby window. Jazz was more than likely trying to take some of the focus off Ratchet since he knew that the medic hated being the center of attention, especially with regards to anything personal.

“Jazz,” Ratchet said to greet him.

“I just wanted to make sure you're feeling okay,” the saboteur spoke gently, still looking out the window. “You didn't look so hot for a while there.”

Ratchet vented softly, turning toward his comrade. “I'm fine,” he replied. “Just a matter of getting used to being in the sky again, I guess.”

“You sure?” Jazz asked, wanting to make sure that Ratchet really was all right. After all, it would not be the first time that the medic had said something that was not entirely true just so the others would not worry about him.

“Positive,” Ratchet insisted. “But thank you for asking.”

Jazz smiled subtly. He wanted to put a hand on Ratchet's shoulder, but he knew that the medic did not always find that kind of thing comforting and so he instead decided to simply give him some space. “Okay. If you need anything, feel free to let me know.”

“I will, Jazz. Thank you.” Ratchet seemed eager to end that part of the conversation, but his voice was still sincere. “Any word on what we're going to do now?”

“Well, yeah, but you won't like it.” Jazz tapped his foot nervously. “We have to split up. We just won't be able to cover enough ground any other way, and we really don't have all that much time to be here.”

“You mean do a ground search? Individually?” Ratchet asked.

Jazz nodded. “Yeah. I don't think we can pull it off any other way, and neither does anyone else.”

Ratchet too was at a loss for any other suggestions. “I suppose not. How much time do we have?”

“Enough to do one quick pass and hope we get lucky, but we'll have to do it soon. It's almost dawn.”

“What?” Ratchet glanced out the window. Sure enough, he could just see where the sky had started to become lighter near the horizon. “Frag. We probably only have a joor.”

“I know,” Jazz said. “That's why we need to start looking. You feeling up to it?”

“I am,” Ratchet asserted confidently. “And if we don't find him?”

Jazz put a hand on his friend's shoulder. “We'll worry about that when the time comes. I'm sure 'Hide will be all right until we find him.”

/* * */

Ironhide transformed into robot mode, his actions again dictated by his curiosity as he continued to regard the strange mech standing before him. The mech that claimed to know things of great importance.

“Why can't you show me here?” Ironhide asked. “You said it would not take long.”

“Would it not be better if we spoke somewhere more private?” the mech countered, though not rudely. “We're out in the open here, and you never know if there could be danger might be lurking right around the corner.”

Ironhide tilted his head. “Danger?” he echoed. “What danger?”

“Oh, anything, really,” the mech said as he glanced at the horizon, narrowing his optics as if focusing on something small and far away. “Things you don't know about. Mechs you can't trust.”

That begged an obvious question, one that Ironhide did not hesitate to ask. “And how do I know I can trust you?”

It was said with suspicion, but the accused mech merely smiled and turned back toward Ironhide. “Because I'm like you. Are we not of the same kind?”

Ironhide could not help but study the mech again, though it did not help quell the conflicting tide of emotions raging in the weapons specialist's processor.

“You can come closer,” the mech offered, seeing how reluctant yet how very curious Ironhide was. “See for yourself. I won't hurt you.”

A moment of hesitation. Should he trust this other mech? He did seem to be so very much like him, not only in appearance but also in manner, but what exactly did that mean? Could he really believe that the mech did not mean him any harm?

Ironhide let out a pant. He was tired and he felt ill and he desperately wanted to believe that there was someone around that he could trust. His CPU had started telling him that he needed to be around others, that he did not know enough to survive on his own. After all, had he not just been aimlessly wandering? Where would he refuel, and how did he know when he needed it?

Finally, after a long moment of deliberation, Ironhide stepped forward.

Only to jump back when his optics caught the slightest movement.

But the mech merely shifted his weight, and glanced at him strangely. “Why are you so nervous?”

How could he answer that, when even he did not know why?

“I don't know,” Ironhide replied. “Perhaps it is programmed in to my coding.”

“Or it's possible that your processor is being overly active,” the mech suggested. “The result of illness or a lack of proper recharge, perhaps?”

Ironhide was surprised at how spot-on the mech's observations seemed to be. It was as if the mech did know him...

“You could be right,” Ironhide said, allowing himself to relax ever so slightly. “I don't know what's going on.”

The mech stepped toward him. “Yeah, I sensed that.”

Ironhide let the mech put his hands on his shoulders. The mech was his exact same height, all black with just a few panels of gunmetal gray. His face looked so familiar that Ironhide was certain he had seen him somewhere before, but he could not remember where.

“Come on,” the mech urged him. “We should go.”

“Can we just... get out of the street and rest for a little while?” Ironhide asked, even as he allowed the other mech to gently nudge him in the opposite direction. “I don't feel well.”

The mech studied him for a moment. “Of course,” he replied, repositioning himself to better steady the weapons specialist. “May I ask what's bothering you?”

Ironhide shifted easily at the light touch of the other mech, trying to think of how he could put it into words as he slowly and laboriously plodded toward the edge of the pavement. In the end he could not describe what he was feeling, and when the other mech looked to him to see if he was ready to explain, Ironhide simply shook his head to indicate that he was not.

“That's all right,” the mech assured him. “Let's just sit down.”

Ironhide nodded, lowering himself against the building that he suddenly found himself next to. The mech sat down beside him, placing his arm around Ironhide's shoulder and also leaning against the wall.

The weapons specialist rested his optics, already starting to feel better now that he was not expending so much energy. Perhaps he had just been pushing himself too hard, not knowing when to stop or why he should.

Only a few breems passed before Ironhide felt well enough to open his optics again. He glanced at the mech sitting beside him, the mech being on his left side at least which gave Ironhide a fairly clear view of him, unlike if he had been on his right side.

“What happened to your optic?” the weapons specialist asked, noting the damage to the mech's face.

The mech shifted, turning to face Ironhide. Ironhide's attention was momentarily drawn to the glyphs under the mech's audial finials, of which were the symbols for strength and protection among others, all things that Ironhide felt he could identify with.

“I damaged it in an altercation,” the dark Cybertronian explained. “The other mech was larger than me.”

Ironhide nodded, shifting slightly to get more comfortable before turning to look at the mech again. “Is it painful?”

The mech shook his head. “No, not really. It's more of an annoyance if anything.”

The weapons specialist nodded again. “I see.” Then he paused for a moment, his thoughts shifting to think about the mech in a much broader sense. “You know, I still don't know your designation.”

The mech glanced at him. “It's Makeshift.”

/* * */

Makeshift?

That designation set off countless alarm bells in Ironhide's processor, and he wasted no time in scrambling to his feet. Unfortunately the other mech was far too close, and positioned in just the right spot to knock Ironhide off balance with hardly more than a well-placed blow to the back of the veteran warrior's leg. Makeshift stood as Ironhide half-landed on his hands and knees, the traitorous mech grabbing ahold of Ironhide's arm and twisting it behind his back to subdue him.

Ironhide grunted as the mech then forced him all the way to the ground, the weapons specialist unable to push himself up with one arm now that Makeshift was putting most of his weight onto Ironhide's lower back, effectively pinning him.

“What are you doing?” Ironhide demanded, his face to the ground and feeling completely vulnerable with the other mech on top of him but managing to hide that fact behind a vicious snarl.

However, Makeshift completely ignored him. “Megatron, I've got him,” he said seemingly to no one, repositioning himself just enough to free one hand. He then slowly and carefully ran his fingers along Ironhide's shoulder blades, feeling every panel and this time earning a round of snarls from the weapons specialist.

“Tell me what you're doing!”

“Just making sure you can't hide from us anymore,” the mech finally responded, his hand tightening around a small electronic device tucked under one of the panels of Ironhide's back even as the weapons specialist squirmed uselessly against him. “You won't be needing this...”


	31. Chapter 31

_Purple_ and _gray_? Really?

What a ludicrous combination of colors, _especially_ for an emergency vehicle...

But Ratchet understood why he needed a temporary change in his color scheme. Fluorescent anything did not exactly blend in with the drably-colored—or rather, _colorless_ —architecture of Kaon. The Autobot medic would gladly put up with Decepticon-favored colors if it meant he was more likely to survive the next few joors.

Hopefully, they would all be back on the ship by then. _Ironhide_ included.

Why Ironhide was so fragging hard to keep in one place was anyone's guess. He never seemed truly comfortable anywhere, and whenever Ratchet had dealt with him, he had always seemed at least somewhat distant, as if he was always thinking about another time or another place.

And now, as Ratchet slowly rolled down the narrow street in this empty section of Kaon, he could not help but think that Ironhide could be _anywhere_. Did they really have even the slightest chance of finding him? For all Ratchet knew, he might have already driven right past him. Perhaps the weapons specialist had tucked himself away in an alley or abandoned building, somewhere where he would not be seen by anyone unless they knew exactly where to look...

No, Ratchet could not think like that. Ironhide would trust him, would seek out his help if he came anywhere close. Right?

Or... would he not?

Ratchet ran another scan, the nearly invisible beams of his sensors cutting through the metal walls on either side of him as easily as his optics cut through darkness. Still, he detected nothing...

Why was Ratchet even asking himself if Ironhide would seek him out? He needed to handle this as if he was looking for a lost sparkling, one who needed his help but would certainly be too afraid to approach him. He had always been a stranger in those situations too, and sometimes it was hard to gain the trust of the individual he was trying to help.

Except this time, it was harder because the black mech did not have any guardians for Ratchet to contact...

Ratchet stopped at the end of the block, a light drizzle of rain starting to thrum against his roof. It was not unlike the time when he and Ironhide had been staying just outside of Kaon, the weapons specialist illogically standing outside in the middle of a lightning storm.

Ironhide had come inside shortly after Ratchet did, though he still seemed restless. Ratchet had been content to try to go back into recharge until he noticed that Ironhide did not seem inclined to do the same, then he could not help but try to find out what was bothering the other mech.

Ratchet had sat up from where he had been lying on the ground before he asked,  _“Is everything okay?”_

Ironhide had not really answered the question, instead asking _Ratchet_ if he had ever confided in someone.

They had then talked about Wheeljack, the Decepticons, and how they had ended up where they were in life. It was an unusual combination of subjects, especially for an Autobot medic and a Decepticon commander to discuss, but Ratchet had sensed that Ironhide had other things on his processor as well, things that were keeping him preoccupied but that he did not seem sure about bringing up.

Ratchet had then casually asked the black mech if _he himself_ was all right.

Ironhide glanced at him then but he quickly seemed to be at a loss for words, and after a few short moments he had looked away. His reply when it came was simple, and again it did not answer the question.

“You need not be concerned about me, Autobot Ratchet.”

If Ratchet had not known any better, he almost would have said that Ironhide appeared shy.

“There's no need to be so formal,” Ratchet had countered, though gently. “There's no one here but us.”

That did not seem to calm Ironhide's nerves any, but the weapons specialist did shift his weight to try to find a more comfortable position. “Very well. Ratchet.”

Ratchet never did find out exactly what was on Ironhide's mind that orn, though the weapons specialist did seem to have an unusual need for social interaction at that time. They had talked for a few more tens of breems before Ironhide seemed ready to recharge as well, and Ratchet had started to worry less about him then.

Until the medic woke up a half a joor later, only to see Ironhide leaning against the wall and doubled over as if he was in pain.

Of course Ratchet was on his feet instantly, rushing over to where Ironhide was to make sure he was all right.

“Ironhide, what's wrong?” he had asked when Ironhide did not react to the sudden movement, his red optics closed tightly. Ratchet had then proceeded to start scanning him, but as soon as the fine beam made contact with Ironhide's armor, the weapons specialist lifted his hand as if requesting him to stop.

Ratchet did stop although he was completely baffled. Ironhide made no other move, he did not even open his optics to look at Ratchet, and very slowly he returned his hand to where it was. Ratchet watched him, not sure what the Decepticon was doing or what was going on with him, but only a short amount of time passed before the medic received his answer.

Ironhide quickly became reanimated again, appearing almost as if he had just awoken from stasis. His rigid stance relaxed and he unshuttered his optics to take in the world around him, glancing around for a moment as if seeing if anything had changed. He then focused on Ratchet, apparently trying to read the expression on the medic's face.

“You should not be awake,” was the first thing Ironhide had said, gingerly turning himself around to lean with his back against the wall. He also looked away from the medic, focusing instead on some indistinct area in front of him.

“Well, I am,” Ratchet responded, “and you gave me a bit of a scare. Do you mind telling me what just happened?”

“I'm sorry,” the weapons specialist said softly. “I didn't intend for you to see that.”

Ratchet still did not know exactly what he had seen, but he merely waited for Ironhide to continue. The black mech seemed to want to tell him, but he appeared to be searching for the words.

Finally, Ironhide spoke up again, reaching out with his hand. “I have something for you. I want you to keep it safe.”

Ratchet could not hide the confusion on his face, but he did reach out to take whatever it was Ironhide wanted to give him. To the medic's surprise, it was a small databank. Still warm even, from files being written onto it so recently.

Ratchet flipped it over in his hand. “What is this?”

“It's... everything. All my data files. Everything in my memory core.”

Ironhide still was not looking at him, but that did not keep Ratchet from staring at the Decepticon with a look of complete bewilderment on his face. “Why would you give me this?”

“Like I said,” Ironhide replied simply, “to keep it safe.”

It still did not make any sense to Ratchet, but he would do what was requested of him. “Very well. Do you wish to tell me why you think there is a need for me to do so?”

Ironhide shook his head. “Not now. I need to rest for a moment.”

Ratchet could believe that—not only did Ironhide look tired, but he _had to have_ expended quite a bit of energy to process that much data that quickly.

And to be completely honest, Ratchet was still very tired himself.

“All right,” the medic replied, sitting down a short distance away to give the weapons specialist some space. “But if you need anything, feel free to tell me.”

Ironhide nodded, settling down and closing his optics after just a few seconds. Ratchet watched him for about a breem more just to make sure he was truly all right, then he too had closed his optics and tried to get some rest.

Ratchet did not find out until later that Ironhide must have only rested for about a joor or so after that. He realized it when Prowl had scared the scrap out of him after the Autobot ship had landed and Ironhide had escorted the the black and white enforcer to the cavern where he was still recharging. His internal chronometer showed that not much time had passed between the last time he saw Ironhide and then, and of course that did not take into account how long Ironhide might have been wandering about before Prowl arrived.

Primus, Ironhide did _not_ know how to take care of himself...

Suddenly, Prowl's even voice came over the comm link, startling Ratchet back to the present.

“ _Optimus, Jazz, Ratchet, I may have something.”_

Ratchet's spark leapt at that, though he was careful to contain his excitement until he heard the nature of what Prowl was referring to.

Optimus answered first, by convention. _“Prowl, what have you found?”_

“ _An intermittent signal just appeared on the eastern side of the city. It is consistent with Ironhide's, although I cannot verify at this time that it actually is his.”_

“ _Well, it's worth a shot,”_ Jazz replied. _“Best lead we've got so far unless anyone else has seen him yet.”_

“That would be a negative here,” Ratchet responded, his engine at idle. “I have yet to see any signs of him.”

“ _I'm databursting the coordinates now,”_ Prowl said. _“Jazz, you are the closest. I will be heading that way as well but be advised that I need to prioritize stealth over speed. It would not do us any good to have to walk home.”_

“I second that,” Ratchet transmitted as he turned onto one of the side streets, following the coordinates that Prowl had provided. “We need you to track him.”

“ _Indeed,”_ Optimus agreed. _“Prowl, stay away from ground level if at all possible. Optimus out.”_

Ratchet also signed off, picking up speed but not moving so fast as to draw attention. Not that anyone was around to see him, but still... Letting one's guard down was a recipe for getting into trouble. And knowing the Decepticons, they probably had surveillance equipment scattered throughout the city. Ratchet could only hope that it did not pick up him or any of his teammates.

The Decepticons had drones too, but Prowl knew how to stay high enough to avoid them.

Ratchet looked at the coordinates again, comparing the location of the signal to Ironhide's last known location. It did fit considering how much time had passed and far Ironhide would have likely traveled, but Ratchet was a bit concerned that they had picked up a signal at all. Ironhide had never removed or turned off his cloaking device, and the fact that it was no longer masking his signal the way it should could indicate that it was damaged.

And how might it have gotten damaged? Ratchet did not even want to think about that...

But if they could use it to their advantage now, they had a chance to bring him back safely. Ratchet was surprised by the relief he felt already, despite the fact that they were not even sure if the signal _was_ Ironhide's. Perhaps the hope that it was was all Ratchet needed. The thought that he was still out there somewhere within reach...

Ratchet banked left onto a main road, the rain hitting his vehicle mode even harder now. It had really started to pour, coming down so heavily that it created a misty haze in the places where his headlights shone through it. At least he did not really need them to see, and honestly the only reason he kept them on was because a Decepticon out and about at this time would certainly have no reason to turn them off, not needing to hide himself from anyone.

Ratchet was going to do everything the way a Decepticon would do it—he was going to think like them and act like them so no one would suspect him. And even if they did, they were not going to be able to predict his actions because he was not going to do what they would expect Ratchet to do.

He was going to _be_ someone else.


	32. Chapter 32

_Won't be needing what?_

With his weathered face so close to the beaten pavement that he could actually feel the cold air coming off of it, Ironhide had not the faintest idea of what Makeshift was taking about. The beaten ex-Decepticon forcibly suppressed a shudder as Makeshift's clawed digits dug deeper into his back, the Shifter trying to wrench something free as far as Ironhide could tell. He could feel even the tiniest movement and even though it stung so much that his core temperature was starting to rise in response, what actually bothered him the most right then was the fact that this mech was laying hands on him at all. The unwanted contact felt downright revolting to the weapons specialist and for some reason he was getting nauseated just thinking about it. It was enough to leave Ironhide completely certain of one thing...

He did not want this mech, or _any_ other mech for that matter, anywhere near him anymore.

Makeshift must have sensed the moment when Ironhide decided to do something, because the Shifter suddenly released his grip from the older mech's back and tried grabbing ahold of Ironhide's unsecured hand instead. But the weapons specialist was quick despite his size and bulk, and in one swift motion he managed to pull his arm back toward his chest and roll himself onto his side, just enough to knock Makeshift off-balance and allow Ironhide to get some semblance of a foothold on the ground beneath him. That would be all the leverage he would need...

Makeshift yelped in surprise as he suddenly found himself careening toward the ground, Ironhide quickly gaining the upper hand. Makeshift honestly had not thought that the wounded veteran had it in him, at least not at this moment in time, but he was quickly beginning to realize that he needed to rethink his approach. It was clearly not going to be as easy of a takedown as he had thought.

Makeshift leapt off of the weapons specialist and moved off to the side, giving Ironhide some space while he himself considered what he was going to do next.

However, the added distance seemed to do nothing to pacify the weapons specialist. He unsteadily pushed himself to his feet before glaring at Makeshift with what appeared to be a combination of wariness and anger. Makeshift's now non-threatening posture also did not help diffuse the situation, Ironhide huffing in clear irritation as he quickly glanced away and then refocused on Makeshift.

Makeshift lowered his head, trying a new approach. "Ironhide, I apologize," he began, the goal to make himself heard before Ironhide made any rash decisions. "Sometimes, I don't think before I act..."

But the weapons specialist was clearly not fooled. He let out a feral growl. "What the _frag_ do you think you were you doing?"

"I'm... _We're_ , trying to help you—" Makeshift began, but Ironhide cut him off before he could finish.

"I don't _need_ your help!"

The words were few but they were spoken with such bitterness that even Makeshift felt the need to pause for a moment. While it had never been unusual for Ironhide to speak his mind—and even be quite outspoken about it at times—it had never been like him to display anything that came even close to resembling true malice.

But now, with Ironhide's unusually intense gaze fixed on him like that of a predator sizing up its prey, Makeshift was hard-pressed to believe that Ironhide was going to be anything but aggressive. He took a step back, lifting his hands placatingly though he also kept his weapons online.

"Ironhide, listen—"

But suddenly, rather than listen to what Makeshift had to say, Ironhide lunged at him.

Makeshift tried to dodge the attack but the weapons specialist landed a heavy punch on his shoulder, enough to send the mech spinning. He did manage to stay on his feet, though he also had to jump back as Ironhide swung at him again. The weapons specialist had clearly not lost his hand-to-hand combat skills.

But Makeshift did not have time for this. He armed his blaster and pointed it at the mech's spark, fully intending to take him down, but then an all-too-familiar voice stopped him.

"Makeshift, stand down."

Makeshift turned to see his leader approaching through the thin blanket of fog that had settled over them, the impressive silver mech also drawing Ironhide's attention and causing the black mech to stop for a moment.

Megatron flippantly waved Makeshift away, then turned to face the weapons specialist. Ironhide was not a small mech by any means but Megatron certainly overshadowed him.

Ironhide watched the larger mech with suspicion as he stood before him, his processor telling him that there was _something_ more he should be doing though it did not specify what.

"Ironhide," Megatron growled, "what game do you think you are playing? You belong to the Decepticon cause and you _will_ return there."

Ironhide still felt it, that need to do something, but whatever it was seemed to be lost. Instead, he reassumed his fighting stance. "I don't play games," he replied. "Rather, it seems that all of you do."

Wasting no time, Megatron harshly slapped him across the face.

"It also seems that you need to be taught again how to show respect," the warlord spat. "What a shame. I spent so long teaching you that lesson the first time."

Ironhide had turned away to cover his now re-injured optic, the lens now freshly cracked. He looked up to glare at Megatron, the mech that had done nothing but deceive him and hurt another mech that had been his friend. Or at least as close to it as anyone Ironhide had.

It pained Ironhide again to think that he had left them behind, but he had not meant it.

"Are you ready to listen now," Megatron questioned him, "or do you still have something you need to get out of your system?"

Ironhide turned away, hunching over slightly to try to relieve the pain, but then he swung around and punched Megatron in the side.

But the warlord had apparently been expecting that, because he grabbed Ironhide's hand before the blow even made contact with his armor. "I thought so," he said, then twisting the mech's hand and throwing him hard onto the ground.

Ironhide yelped as he hit pavement, landing on his back in a very vulnerable position. Megatron then grabbed him by the throat, unsheathing his sword and resting the blade against the vital area of Ironhide's neck.

"You used to be much better at this," Megatron pointed out, almost mockingly. "Something else you will need to learn."

Ironhide lay silent, processing those words and trying to connect his current situation to anything he may have experienced before. He felt that he had the data, that he had been through something like this before, but he just... could not reach it.

It was enough to make his processor ache.

"I surrender," Ironhide finally murmured, glancing away and letting his fatigue get the best of him just for a moment.

Megatron grinned in satisfaction. "A wise decision. Perhaps it isn't too late for you."

Lifting himself to his feet, the Decepticon leader did not bother helping Ironhide up. The weapons specialist unsteadily rolled onto his hands and knees, glancing warily at the sword that now rested near Megatron's side.

Then, rather than standing up as he was expected to do, he threw himself at the Decepticon.

Megatron had not been anticipating any kind of trickery from the normally forthright weapons specialist, and Ironhide's attack certainly caught him off guard. The black mech was also heavy enough to knock him to the ground, and before he could even swing his sword around to defend himself, Ironhide grabbed the blade and snapped it in two, cutting his own fingers but providing him with a weapon that he promptly used in the manner Megatron had.

Time stood still as Ironhide now had his former leader pinned by the edge of a blade, in a position that would allow him to permanently offline the mech with a simple flick of his wrist.

Makeshift looked as if he wanted to step forward, but the situation was too volatile. He stood his ground.

"You didn't know what to do, so you did what you think I would have done. Well played," Megatron commended the veteran warrior. "But now, what are you going to do from here?"

Ironhide drew in a vent of air, releasing it in a low growl as he continued to stare at this mech that he could never trust. There was only one thing he wanted to do.

He put just a little more pressure on the blade, but then, he threw it to the side.

Megatron watched silently as the weapons specialist pushed away from him, the black mech without a word standing up and turning away, walking slowly toward the street.

Megatron also had nothing more to say as he stood, Makeshift standing beside him. The Shifter raised his weapons at the retreating mech's broad back, but Megatron's hand stopped him.

"Leave him be," Megatron ordered, giving no further explanation or instructions.

Makeshift stared in disbelief. "For how long? This could be our only chance."

"For good," the warlord declared. "He has earned the right to find his own way."

Makeshift paused, then reluctantly nodded his acceptance. "As you wish, Lord Megatron." Then he added, "But, what shall we do if he crosses our path again? You know that the Autobots will certainly try to recruit him."

"If he crosses our path again, as an Autobot or otherwise, we will treat him like any other enemy of ours." The Lord High Protector turned away. "But until that orn comes, he is to be left alone."

Leaving no room for debate, Megatron promptly transformed and took off into the night sky. Makeshift watched him go, then, turning to see that Ironhide had also transformed and was leaving, the Shifter likewise assumed alt mode and took off into the city.

/* * */

"Guys guys guys," Jazz blurted over the comm link as he hid behind a building. "You're not gonna believe what I just saw."

" _I would believe about anything right now,"_ Ratchet answered haughtily, _"but please tell me it's something worth knowing about."_

"It is. I just saw 'Hide."

The comm link was silent for a moment.

" _Where?"_ Ratchet asked, giving Jazz his full attention now.

"He just passed me. My coordinates. I didn't try to flag him down 'cause I know Megs is in the area, but 'Hide must have won a fight because he has a fresh injury but Megs isn't following him."

" _Jazz, track Ironhide,"_ Optimus commanded. _"Prowl, make sure Megatron is indeed not heading in the same direction. Ratchet, meet up with Jazz. I will be there as soon as I can."_

"I'm on it," Jazz responded as he pulled out onto the street, "but he's already a bit ahead of me. Prowl, can you still track him too? In case he turns off somewhere?"

" _I can,"_ Prowl replied, _"but the signal is still intermittent. You may not get live updates."_

"That's fine," Jazz said. "As long as I know which direction to go."

" _He is currently one-half klik northeast of you and moving fast. At your current rate of speed you should catch up with him in about 12 breems."_

" _Whoa, wait a second,"_ Ratchet cut in. _"That can't be right. He's right here."_

Jazz slammed on his brakes, something not seeming right. "Right where?"

" _South of the location you were previously at,"_ Ratchet clarified. _"I'm looking right him. He's across the street."_

" _Ratchet, those coordinates do not match up with what I'm showing,"_ Prowl warned him.

" _Could the coordinates be wrong?"_ Ratchet asked. _"After all, the signal isn't consistent."_

" _It's possible,"_ Prowl conceded, _"but not likely. It has been consistent enough to believe that the coordinates Jazz is heading to are correct. He should not be south of Jazz's former location, even if only based on Jazz's sighting."_

Ratchet did not seem to believe his comrade. _"Well, something's not right because I know it's him. I have a clear view of his alt mode. It's unmistakable."_

"Hold up, Ratchet. Let me meet you out there before you do anything." Jazz really had a bad feeling now, and Ratchet was six breems away. The medic really should not be out there alone.

" _I'll be fine,"_ Ratchet assured him. _"He knows who I am. I'll switch my colors back so he recognizes me."_

" _Ratchet, wait for Jazz,"_ Optimus commanded his subordinate. _"Ironhide is unpredictable at this stage."_

Ratchet did not respond.

Was he ignoring them? Jazz certainly hoped not.

"Ratch," the silver minibot spoke up, a little more serious this time, "wait for me, okay? I'll be there in a sec."

Still no answer. Jazz cursed as Optimus tried to page the medic again.

Jazz picked up speed, trying to get there sooner. Hopefully Ratchet was just busy and had not done something foolish.

No Decepticon was worth losing their medic. Not in Jazz's opinion.

/* * */

Ratchet idled across the street from where Ironhide had parked.

What was the weapons specialist doing there? Resting, or hiding from someone?

Or making sure no one else was around?

Ratchet was not picking up any other spark signals. Ironhide's seemed... different somehow, but then again, Ratchet had never really been exposed to it much. Ironhide had a habit of keeping it masked and it was likely that Ratchet was only picking up on it now because the cloaking device he uses had gotten damaged.

Ratchet transformed, changing his colors back to the familiar yellow-green with red stripes.

" _Ratchet, wait for Jazz. Ironhide is unpredictable at this stage."_

Ratchet almost opened a comm link to reply, but he decided not to. He knew what he was doing, and he knew Ironhide better than anyone else. If anyone was equipped to handle the situation, he was.

And he did not feel like arguing about it.

"Ironhide," he called out as he carefully walked across the street, "are you all right? Where have you been?"

The comm link once again interrupted the medic, annoying him enough that he was tempted to turn it off.

" _Ratch, wait for me, okay? I'll be there in a sec."_

But that would not be wise. He would just reply once he had established what Ironhide's condition was.

Ironhide was not speaking, but Ratchet was now close enough to do a medical scan. Perhaps it would tell him something.

"Ironhide, I'm just going to make sure you're okay. You've been through this before," Ratchet told him, knowing that Ironhide had always been more comfortable when he knew what to expect.

But as soon as Ratchet started the scan, Ironhide shot at him.

_Primus!_ The medic cursed internally as he leapt out the way. Since when was Ironhide armed? He had still been stripped of his weapons when Ratchet last saw him, which was not that long ago. And he had only been running loose on the street as far as anyone could tell.

"He shot at me," Ratchet transmitted over the comm link as he took cover behind a building. "He missed, but he shot at me."

" _Frag it, Ratch! Optimus and I both told you to wait!"_ Jazz did not sound happy, but he would get over it.

"I didn't think I needed to," Ratchet defended himself. "He should not have been armed."

" _He's still a good fighter,"_ Jazz retorted. _"And he doesn't know you that well anymore."_

That last bit actually hit Ratchet like a slap in the face. He may know Ironhide, or at least who Ironhide was before all this, but Ironhide had virtually no recollection of him. The entire relationship Ratchet had established with the mech up to this point did not exist anymore.

And that hurt Ratchet more than it probably should, but he could not focus on that right now.

" _Ratchet, if it is safe to do so, leave the area,"_ Optimus advised. _"Prowl believes that the mech you just encountered may be a Decepticon Shifter. He may be impersonating Ironhide in an attempt to throw us off."_

A Shifter? Ratchet had yet to encounter one...

"Copy that," the medic transmitted. "Jazz, continue on your previous course. I'll be coming in hot right behind you."

Ratchet glanced back across the street, but the Shifter was gone.

" _Then you better hurry up,"_ Jazz responded. _"We don't have much time left."_

"I know. I'm coming."

/* * */

Ratchet barreled down the narrow street at speeds that would likely draw attention—had there been anyone around to see him. But luckily, no one really seemed to traverse this area at this time of the orn.

Well, with the exception of a dark-colored mech that suddenly stepped out in front of him, leaving the medic no time to react and sending both mechs crashing into the pavement. Ratchet transformed instinctively, putting a hand out to break his fall as the other mech tumbled past him.

"Watch where you're going!" The words slipped out before Ratchet even realized what he said, let alone who he had said it to. Cringing internally at what may very well have just been an extremely foolish mistake, Ratchet forced himself to turn around and see exactly who he was dealing with.

The mech was already on his feet and facing away from him, and he seemed to be inspecting the mirror-like surface of his upper arms for any scratches. The rest of his frame was black trimmed in purple and clearly that of a warrior, every panel on his slim form appearing to be at least as sharp as a razor blade. Ratchet was of course not surprised to see Decepticon shields when the mech finally did turn around to look at him, although he was quite surprised to see that it was actually not a mech. It was a Decepticon femme.

"Says who?" she demanded.

Ratchet froze. How familiar were most Deceptions with the Autobot ranks? Should he even try to make up a designation, or would it be all too obvious that he was lying?

"Says me," Ratchet quickly shot back, trying to sound every bit as intimidating as the Decepticon had, and praying to Primus that this would not backfire on him. He had already hidden his Autobot shields, but that did not necessarily mean that he could pass as a Decepticon.

The femme studied him—no, _scrutinized_ him—for a long moment and Ratchet could not help but feel that if he did not do this right, it could be the last mistake he ever made.

"Hmm," the femme grunted, continuing with that unnerving stare. Ratchet for his part stood his ground, meeting the Decepticon's gaze with one that was equally steady.

Even if it felt as wrong as the Pit.

But then the femme relaxed and looked away. It was all Ratchet could do not to let out a sigh of relief, but he knew he could not let his guard down. Not yet.

The femme moved a little closer, running her fingers along Ratchet's armor in a way that made the medic want to shudder but that he forced himself to ignore. "Well," she said, " _Airachnid_ doesn't think that's good enough."

Ratchet hardly had time to process those words before Airachnid's expertly unsheathed blade sliced across his abdomen, cutting through even his thick armor and reaching the sensitive wiring underneath. The medic cried out in pain as he fell to his knees, clutching the injury with his hand though it did little to stem the flow of energon. The small rivulets of precious liquid trickling through his fingers served as nothing more than an unwelcome distraction as Ratchet tried to stay focused on the situation around him, a task that was getting more difficult as the damaged lines began to spasm in an automatic attempt to try to shunt the flow.

Seeing her adversary trembling now, Airachnid seemed more than content to sheath her weapon. Then she stepped closer to the mech, who feebly tried to move away from her but apparently was not able to.

Pathetic. That should teach him a lesson.

"Next time," Airachnid called over her shoulder as she nonchalantly walked away, "try to show some respect."

Ratchet continued to pant even long after Airachnid was gone. Primus, he needed something to take the edge off or he was going to be in too much pain to move.

At least he had his medical kit with him now.

Ratchet pulled the kit out of subspace, opening the lid with his free hand and foraging around for the analgesic patches that he knew were in there. He did not have many, but he knew he would need two to cover the entire injury.

That would only leave one if anyone else on the team got injured, but it could not be helped.

Pulling the patches out of their wrappers, Ratchet applied them one at a time to his distinctly tender abdomen, then he covered the entire area with a self-adhesive wrap. It stung quite a bit as he put it on, and perhaps it was on too tight, but he did not want it to come off and soon he should not feel it anyway.

Now all he had to do was wait for the combination of painkillers to take effect, and then he could continue on with his journey. Perhaps without anyone knowing that this had happened.

At least for the time being. No need to worry them when they had other priorities.

But of course, he was not so lucky.

" _Ratchet, Prowl is showing that you have not moved from your current location. Is everything all right?"_

The medic tried pulling himself together before he replied to his leader's comm, though he knew as soon as he spoke that his voice sounded pitifully unsteady. "I'm fine," he choked out. "Just... had a run-in with a 'Con... She's... gone now."

There was a pause before Ratchet heard Optimus address someone else through the shared comm link. _"Prowl, go get Ratchet."_

"No," Ratchet protested with as much forcefulness as he had in him, which was probably not much but hopefully it would enough to get his point across. He did not want to hold them back, and he knew he could make it the rest of the way if he was just given the chance. After all, the focus of all of his training was to be out in the field. "I can make it."

He half expected Optimus to contest, but his leader instead seemed to have faith in him. _"Very well. Meet up with Jazz, and allow him to escort you the rest of the way. Be safe out there."_

"I will," Ratchet replied. "As much as I can."

/* * */

The rest of Ratchet's journey to meet up with Jazz was thankfully uneventful, something that Ratchet appreciated even more now that dawn was upon them. The silver mech had of course wanted to make sure that Ratchet was all right, and the medic was also sure that Optimus had asked Jazz for a status report regarding his condition. It was not unlike the Prime to check up on his team like that.

"I'm fine," Ratchet had told the saboteur, his voice thankfully steady now. "Let's just get this over with."

Jazz had cocked his head. "You sure? It looks deep."

"It's mostly superficial," the medic replied, which was more or less the truth. "I'll be fine until we get back."

The closer the Autobot pair got to the most recent set of coordinates that Prowl had provided, the more certain Ratchet was that he had been here before. Every rocky cliff face they passed looked more and more familiar, and even the powder-fine sand beneath his treads seemed to be of a kind that he had encountered recently.

Jazz soon transformed, glancing at the myriad of caverns and outcroppings and other places where a mech would be able to hide. Rough coordinates would not get them much farther than this.

The silver mech let out a contemplative sigh. "All right, so we know he's around here somewhere. How about we split up and search by quadrants?"

"I think I know where he might be," Ratchet spoke up, also transforming and feeling very confident that he knew where they were. "Head toward that gully. The one to your left."

Jazz lead the way, being the only of the two mechs that was armed, but Ratchet continued to give him directions. There should be a cavern, the one Ironhide had lead him to those however many orns ago, just past that open expanse of desert. It seemed like an eternity since he had spoke with him then.

Yes! There it was!

And as sure as the sky above was blue, the unmistakable form of Ironhide's vehicle mode was right by the entrance.

Ratchet quickly moved to step forward, but Jazz stopped him.

"Hold up," the silver mech ordered. "We don't know if he's gonna shoot at you again. Or me for the first time."

Ratchet batted Jazz's hand away. "Jazz, this isn't Makeshift. I'm sure of it."

"Well, I know how to be completely sure." Jazz left no room for debate as he promptly armed his weapon and pointed it at the black mech. Ratchet did not even have time to react before Jazz fired, the precisely aimed shot striking the weapons specialist squarely on the front of his alt mode.

Ratchet prepared himself for some kind of retaliatory attack but the projectile bounced harmlessly off Ironhide's hood, erupting in a shower of sparks but leaving the glossy black surface unharmed. It had been nothing more than a flare, and Ironhide had not reacted to it other than flicking his wipers on to clear the debris.

Jazz had tested the mech, and as much as Ratchet wanted to smack the saboteur for doing something so incredibly belligerent when Ironhide was so fragile, he simply could not find it in himself to be upset. He was just glad that they had found him.

Jazz finally allowing him to step forward, Ratchet carefully made his way toward the weapons specialist, calling out his name as he did so.

"Ironhide, are you all right?"

Ironhide did not respond, merely idling there as if Ratchet had not said anything at all.

The medic scanned him again, just to verify what he already knew—that Ironhide was awake and conscious, and certainly able to hear him. The only reason the black mech would not be responding would be because that was his choice.

Ratchet continued, undeterred. He could often get even the most reluctant patients to say something if he just brought up the right subject. "How did you find this place?"

Still nothing. Ratchet's thoughts were drawn back to something Optimus had said earlier about being careful, that Ironhide may be unpredictable or even dangerous at this stage, but Ratchet could not believe that. Ironhide had never acted in a way that suggested he would do harm to someone who was innocent. It just did not seem to be part of his core programming, and something that deep-seated would certainly not be affected even by something as significant as amnesia.

Ratchet somehow found the courage to do what his processor knew was foolish but his spark told him was okay, he walked up to Ironhide and placed his hand on the darker mech's hood.

Ironhide transformed as soon as Ratchet touched him, the black panels shifting aside and rearranging themselves to allow the weapons specialist to stand at his full height, though he also took a slow step back.

But then, he spoke. "Ratchet?"

The medic stayed where he was. "Yes, it's me. What are you doing out here?"

Another déjà vu moment, though Ratchet did not have time to dwell on it.

And Ironhide did not seem to have an answer. He merely watched Ratchet as if unsure of what to do next, his uncertainty prompting the the medic to take on a leadership role.

Ratchet held out his hand. "Come on. It's time for all of us to go home."


	33. Chapter 33

Jazz walked over to the only other two mechs that were currently occupying the cargo hold, both of whom were sitting on the long bench seat fastened to the bulkhead. The blue material covering it matched the lighter-colored panels of the Autobot ship nicely, though it also shone it stark contrast to the bright yellow armor covering Ratchet’s legs.

Ironhide had his optics closed and he was leaning heavily against the medic's dust-covered frame. Ratchet looked up as the silver mech approached but he did not say anything, leaving Jazz wondering if the now-former Decepticon was just resting his optics or if he was actually oblivious to anything going on around him, whether or not Ratchet had given him something to slow him down.

“Is he in recharge?” Jazz asked.

Ratchet had one arm draped around the black mech’s shoulders for support, stroking him as if he was a tired youngling. “Yes,” the medic replied, “and he needs it, too. I wouldn't be surprised if he stays like this for the remainder of the trip.”

“Did you start a drip on him?”

The medic shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t tolerate it. I did manage to get some energon into him orally, but he did not seem too keen on that idea either.”

Jazz tilted his head to the side. “Hmm. That’s curious. He has to be running on E by now, doesn’t he?”

“The Decepticons brought his levels up a little bit,” Ratchet responded, “but they're still much lower than I would like. He would feel quite a bit better if I could get more into him but I didn’t want to push it.”

“Oh, I'm sure he would,” Jazz replied, he himself having been in that situation enough times to earn more than one heavy scolding from Ratchet. He smiled to himself before continuing. “So, I have to ask, did the ‘Cons even remember you?”

Ratchet rolled his optics. "No, I don't think they did. Perk of not really having a rank I guess."

Jazz chuckled at that. "Yeah, I suppose so. They would've been really suspicious if it’d been me."

"That's why I went,” the medic reminded him. “Everyone knows your face.”

“True,” Jazz conceded, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chassis, a position that was much more comfortable. Even standing up he was about as tall as Ratchet and Ironhide were sitting.

“He won't remember any of this,” Ratchet suddenly spoke up, the abrupt change of subject catching Jazz slightly off guard. “The best we could do is provide him with our own memories of what has happened since I last saw him outside of Kaon.”

Jazz studied his comrade, who seemed pained by the idea that Ironhide might lose any part of who he was. It had always been natural for Ratchet to try to find solutions to anything that he deemed to be a problem, however it often stressed the medic when no such solution existed.

“You know,” the silver mech responded, “he will still be who he was. What he stands to lose is a very short amount of time when you consider how long he has been on this planet.”

Ratchet let out a heavy sigh, shifting his weight but being careful not to disturb Ironhide. "You are more or less correct, Jazz, I won’t deny that, but we don’t know how important anything is that might have happened in that small amount of time. Whatever took place when we weren’t around, when it was just him and the Decepticons, I'm afraid is lost."

“Have you told Optimus yet, that he gave you a copy of his memory core?” Jazz questioned him.

Ratchet once again shook his head. “No, because none of it will matter if I can't gain his trust first. He won’t even let me start an IV knowing that I’m a medic.”

Jazz put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Don’t worry. He trusted you before, and he will again. He just needs some time to get used to all this."

Ratchet looked away. “I hope you’re right.”

/* * */

Contrary to what Ratchet had predicted, Ironhide did wake up before they arrived in Iacon. A few joors had passed and a few more were still left to go before they made it home, giving Ratchet enough time to _try_ to get a more thorough medical exam done. It was tough because for some reason, Ironhide was just not being as cooperative as he had been in the past.

And it was not that the weapons specialist was being _un_ cooperative per se, but rather he simply did not seem apt to do anything that Ratchet requested him to do. He would not stay still, he had begun to shy away whenever Ratchet touched him, and he did not seem focused on anyone around him. Ratchet had even had to raise his voice slightly just to get Ironhide’s attention. The medic needed to know what was going on, but Ironhide was not making it easier to find out.

The black mech had also since purged his tanks of what little bit of energon Ratchet had gotten him to take, something that Ratchet found very concerning. The next logical step would be to forcibly sedate him so he could do his work, something that Ratchet hated to do but that he felt he had no choice about. It frustrated him really, that he might have to break any hope of Ironhide trusting him in the near future, but the weapons specialist was becoming restless and Ratchet needed to settle him down.

“ _Optimus, can you come here?”_ Ratchet sent over the comm link, already estimating what Ironhide weighed and calculating a dosage that should be appropriate. Now would be the best time to do it, with Ironhide still sitting on the bench and his fingers gripping the edge of the seat tightly. It did not appear that he was going to get up anytime soon, and indeed Ratchet’s earlier request to have him do so had been met with nothing more than a slightly glassy stare.

“ _On my way,”_ Optimus replied even as Ratchet heard him enter the cargo bay area. The red and blue mech made his way over to them nonchalantly, sitting down beside Ironhide as Ratchet requested.

“ _Just keep an optic on him for a second. I need to get a sedative and then I’m going to need your help administering it. He isn’t letting me do much of anything.”_

Optimus merely nodded patiently, settling in beside Ironhide but also leaving the black mech enough space that he would not feel crowded. Ironhide had always preferred personal space over not.

“Ironhide,” Ratchet addressed the darker mech, “I need to get up for a breem. Optimus is going to wait with you, okay?”

Ironhide glanced at the medic, and although he did not say anything in response, he did seem to ‘see’ him this time.

Ratchet immediately felt a pang of guilt for having felt frustrated toward the mech. It was clear that Ironhide had not been trying to make things difficult for him.

“I’ll be right back,” Ratchet addressed him again, almost wishing he did not have to leave Ironhide’s side until he knew that the mech was all right.

But he had to do this. It would help him find out.

And although he knew he could trust Optimus to keep him safe—and he would only be steps away, Primus!—Ratchet still found it hard to push himself off the bench.

But the short walk to his supply cabinet was much easier. Ratchet opened one of the sliding drawers and reached for a vial of one of the faster-acting sedatives he kept on hand. It was completely clear and as thin as water, making it very easy to draw up and administer.

The latter of which was going to be the important part, Ratchet thought as he twisted the cap off a syringe and drew up the proper amount, flicking it with his fingers to get any bubbles out.

Optimus and Ironhide were still sitting more or less peacefully when Ratchet turned around to walk back over to them, although Ironhide was glancing around at the room. The weapons specialist did focus on Ratchet when the medic sat down beside him, something that made Ratchet curse under his breath because all the other times he wanted him to focus he would not do it, and now that he wished for the mech to pay attention to something else, of course Ironhide had his attention on him.

“Ironhide,” Optimus spoke up, seeing what Ratchet was trying to do, “Can you focus on me for a moment?”

Ironhide did not seem as if he was going to comply, but then after a moment of hesitation, he turned his head to glance at the Autobot leader.

And Ratchet made his move—placing the needle almost against one of the exposed energon lines in a gap in Ironhide’s armor, he waited only a second before swiftly plunging it into the line.

Ironhide jumped off the bench at the sudden and sharp pinprick, swinging around to see what had happened though he was already loosing his coordination. Optimus got up just as Ironhide stumbled into the wall, Ratchet also on his feet now and trying to help steady the black mech.

“I’ve got him,” Optimus stated as he grabbed ahold of the weapons specialist, the Prime being much better able to hold the mech up than Ratchet was. Ironhide let out a subtle cry as Optimus and Ratchet moved him to a berth, the mech getting weak fast. Ratchet’s spark ached seeing him this way, but it would be better for him in the end.

By the time the two Autobots laid him down on the flat surface of the berth, Ironhide was already almost unconscious. Another breem and he was completely unaware of what was going on around him, Ratchet verifying by squeezing the mech’s fingers quite hard to test for a deep pain reflex.

No reaction.

Ratchet turned around to face Optimus, finally feeling some relief as far as Ironhide was concerned. “Thank you for your help,” he said to his leader. “I would have hated to have to have lifted him by myself.”

Optimus chuckled lightly. “You are very welcome, Ratchet. Now you can work your magic.”

Ratchet also chuckled, though more to relieve the stress than because he found Optimus’s statement humorous. “Indeed, although I’m not sure would call it magic. More like science and technology.”

The red and blue mech smiled at him. “Then however you wish to describe it. He is in good hands.”

“Thank you,” Ratchet said almost under his breath as he began connecting the handful of monitors and sensors to Ironhide’s frame. He had wanted to get a baseline set of vitals _much_ sooner than this, but Ironhide had not wished him to even attach the sticky pads to monitor his spark rhythm. And that was one of the least invasive—and most important—tests he could do.

But it was what it was. Practicing medicine on sparklings was often quite similar.

Optimus watched the proceedings for a short amount of time longer before he turned and left to allow Ratchet to work without distractions.

However, not even fifteen breems passed before Ratchet reached out to him again.

“Optimus,” the medic called across the cargo bay, stepping away from the berth he had been working at and heading toward the back of the ship for at least some privacy, “can I speak with you for a moment?”

At Ratchet's almost shaky tone, Optimus did not hesitate to excuse himself from the conversation he had started with Jazz and make his way over to where the medic now stood in isolation. Ratchet was partially facing the wall and did not seem particularly inclined to continue speaking, prompting Optimus to try to figure out what was concerning the other mech. “Ratchet, what did you wish to speak to me about?”

Ratchet sighed heavily, shifting his weight and looking distinctly uncomfortable as his gaze flickered between Optimus and Ironhide before his optics finally settled on his leader.

“He's carrying,” the medic finally announced, his voice barely a whisper. “I estimate that it's only been a few orns.”

That gave Optimus pause, the larger mech clearly considering how such an unexpected bit of information might impact the already touchy situation they had with Ironhide and the way they handled him. “Does he know?” Optimus asked.

“I doubt it,” the medic replied. “It's very early. There would be no signs. And if he is not even aware that he was... _with_ someone, then... I don’t see how he could know.”

Another pause, the red and blue leader reaching up to pinch the bridge of his olfactory sensor as he let out a sigh. “Do we know who could be the sire?” he dared to ask.

Ratchet huffed. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I think we both have a pretty good idea.”

Optimus pondered that for just a moment, but then he shifted his attention to more important matters. “Can he carry the sparkling to term?”

“ _Can_ he? Well, I would say yes, he probably _can_ ,” Ratchet responded, “but should he? I would say absolutely not. His systems are already redirecting resources to the sparkling and therefore failing to repair themselves, he is not physically or mentally prepared for such a task, and trying to carry a sparkling full-term while recovering from his own injuries will certainly drain him of what little resources he does have, even under supportive care. He is not at the starting point he needs to be at for something like this and it could seriously compromise his health.”

Optimus considered the medic's words, taking into account everything the chartreuse Autobot had pointed out. “Understood,” he replied quietly. “What would you recommend?”

Ratchet thought about it for a moment, although it was clear that he had been contemplating the options since before Optimus even asked. “I would recommend that we transfer the offspring to an appropriate surrogate. It would need to be done on or near the tenth orn to maximize the sparkling's chance of survival and minimize any adverse effects on Ironhide.”

Optimus nodded his understanding, though he did not yet endorse the proposal. “And would Ironhide be informed of this?”

“Under any other circumstances,” Ratchet began, shifting his weight nervously in clear indication of just how touchy the subject matter was, “I would find it unethical _not_ to tell him. But, considering the time frame we are dealing with, I doubt he knows that the sparkling was even conceived, and it likely happened without his consent, so I believe it would be best if he was not informed right now. If his guardian protocols were to come online and he became defensive, he may refuse the procedure and that would not be in the best interest of either himself or the sparkling. He is not yet able to make sound decisions and so I do not wish to place him in any situation that requires it. But, that choice is ultimately not up to me.”

Optimus nodded, putting together the pieces of what Ratchet was implying but did not say. “So, you are asking for my consent?” the Prime asked.

“Yes,” Ratchet affirmed, “I am.”

Never having been one to make rash decisions, Optimus took a moment to carefully consider what Ratchet was asking to do. The medic always had the best interest of his patients in mind, and Optimus did not doubt that what Ratchet proposed was likely the best solution to a previously unforeseeable set of circumstances. “Granted,” he finally said, “under the stipulation that Ironhide will be informed of ot in a reasonable amount of time and when appropriate.”

Ratchet nodded, relief obvious in the features of his face. “Of course. It is his sparkling, after all. His first as far as I can tell.”

The medic sounded almost proud to be a part of it as he mentioned that last part, something that most mechs would not guess from him but that Optimus was not surprised by. Ratchet had more of a soft spot for younglings than his gruff exterior suggested.

“His first?” Optimus could not help but smile at that. Even if the circumstances were, to put it lightly, _less than ideal_ , a new sparkling was always a reason to be joyful. “Then let us pray that all will go well with this new little sparkling.”


	34. Chapter 34

Ironhide was not certain what woke him up, his environment was lost to him as his systems took what seemed like an eternity to come back online, however he did feel markedly better somehow.

The weapons specialist blinked, suddenly realizing that he was lying on his back and that something thin but sharp seemed to have gotten lodged in his forearm. He feebly tried to pull away from it, the action notably sluggish which only reminded him that he was not functioning at a hundred percent, but someone grabbed his hand to stop him.

"It's just an IV," said the Autobot medic, whom Ironhide could now see looking down at him. "Please leave it. It's doing you a lot of good."  
  
Ironhide drew in a vent of air, the medic’s tone reassuring even though it was a bit disconcerting to the weapons specialist to realize that he did not remember getting on this berth at all or that Ratchet had done anything more than basic first aid. As he thought more about it, he did remember getting on the ship, but everything after that was... fuzzy.  
  
Ratchet waved a hand in front of Ironhide's face, which the weapons specialist was able to track easily before refocusing on the medic.  
  
“Good.” Ratchet stepped back, regarding him patiently with those calm blue optics. "How are you feeling?"

Ironhide paused to think for a moment. “Better,” he replied. “I did not realize earlier how poor my condition had become.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” the medic responded, “and I am sure that you are not even aware of the majority of it.”

Ironhide said nothing, having nothing to go on to confirm that what the medic said was true but somehow sensing that he was right.

“What is the earliest thing you remember?” Ratchet prompted him.

Ironhide thought back. He remembered the ship, the desert, the city, the other mechs, pain, falling...

And waking up and seeing...  


“Optimus,” Ironhide said. The red and blue mech, his face as he watched him get up for the first time, the flame-patterned armor on his arms as he prevented him from falling. The strength yet gentleness that was in the mech’s every move. The patience and understanding in his optics...

Of course the weapons specialist had data files on this mech, simple lists of facts, but he did not know when they were written, and what he remembered was how he _felt_ being around him. Seeing him that time that seemed so long ago now.

  
Ironhide also felt that there had to be something more, something just beyond his reach, but he could find nothing before that. It just... ended.

“When?” Ratchet asked, then adjusting his question in case Ironhide did not have a good sense of time. “Or where were you?”

“In the building,” Ironhide replied. “The one where I met you.”

Ratchet seemed to cringe at that, but then he let out a gentle vent of air. “I see,” he said, focusing on the monitors before turning back to Ironhide. “We’re going to be landing soon. Do you feel well enough to sit up?”

  
Ironhide nodded. “I believe so.”

Ratchet helped him sit up, the chartreuse medic placing one hand on Ironhide’s back and the other on his shoulder as the weapons specialist tentatively pushed himself up to a sitting position. The movement pained him more than he would like but he managed to hide it from Ratchet. It was dull and ill-defined anyway, and Ironhide was not sure how he could even explain it. Certainly anything serious would have already been found by the medic.

“That’s good,” Ratchet said to him, carefully letting go to attend to the monitors again. Ironhide could feel the elevation drop as the ship started to descend. He grabbed onto the edge of the berth to steady himself as Ratchet continued speaking.

“I would just like to get one more set of vitals before I disconnect you. You will not be spending the night in the med bay so it will be helpful if I can get as many readings as possible before morning.”

Ironhide nodded, staying relatively still in case any of Ratchet’s tests were sensitive to that kind of thing. He did take the opportunity to glance around the hold of the ship, noting that it looked identical to what he remembered, although this time he did not see any other mechs around.

“All right,” Ratchet spoke up then, drawing Ironhide’s attention back to him. “One more breem and we’ll be on the ground.”

Ironhide sat silently as Ratchet began disconnecting the monitors, though he did flinch as the medic capped off the IV.

“I’m sorry,” Ratchet apologized. “I’m sure it’s still tender there.”

“A bit,” Ironhide replied, the area stinging now, but it was more of an annoyance than anything. One that would probably go away soon anyway.

The ship descended more slowly now, and several seconds later Ironhide felt it land softly on the ground. He heard the engines power down as the cockpit door opened, with Jazz, Prowl, and Optimus stepping into the cargo bay. Ratchet moved to open the cargo bay door.

“I am pleased to see you awake, Ironhide,” Optimus addressed him gently as he walked up to the berth. “Did you manage to get some rest?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Ironhide replied. “I feel better than I did before.”

But even as Ironhide said that, he began to feel the twinge of a headache. The energon Ratchet had been giving him must have had a painkiller in it.

“That is good to hear,” Optimus responded, moving out of the way as Ratchet returned to help Ironhide stand up. Ratchet knew best where Ironhide’s injuries were, so it only made sense that he be the one to assist Ironhide.

However, Ironhide found himself shying away from the medic’s touch. He was not sure why—after all, it had not really bothered him before—but now, he felt distinctly uncomfortable having the medic that close to him.

Ratchet must have sensed that something was off, because he took a step back to give Ironhide some space.

“Ironhide, are you able to stand on your own?” Ratchet asked him without judgment. “Or would you like one of us to assist you?”

Ironhide glanced at the four Autobots, all of whom were watching him now.

“I believe I can stand on my own,” he said, “but I appreciate the offer.”

And he did genuinely appreciate it, he just... It just did not feel right.

The weapons specialist hoisted himself to his feet, using the berth for leverage and trying to ignore the fact that he was being watched. These were friends, after all, and certainly there was no reason to feel self-conscious around them.

Once Ironhide was standing, Jazz strode forward first and disembarked, waiting just outside the cargo bay door. Ironhide could see now that they were in a well-lit hangar, and it seemed that there were some other mechs standing outside.

“Prowl.” Optimus gestured for the enforcer to go next, then he glanced at Ironhide and Ratchet. “Ironhide, I will disembark last. However, you are welcome to disembark either before or after Ratchet.”

Ironhide glanced between the two remaining Autobots and the open door. Honestly, he did not want to leave this ship at all.

It was familiar. It was safe. Who knew what was outside...

But the weapons specialist knew he was being ridiculous. There was nothing out there where Jazz and Prowl had gone that would be frightening.

And what was he scared of, anyway?

“I will go behind Ratchet,” he finally answered Optimus. “If that is all right.”

Ratchet nodded. “Of course. Follow me.”

Ironhide fell into step behind Ratchet, and he was quite pleased that he was able to move without too much discomfort or difficulty. The medic must have done at least some repair work when Ironhide had been in recharge.

“There will be a few Autobots waiting outside that you are not familiar with,” Ratchet informed him, “but you need not fear them. They just wanted to be here when we arrived.”

Ironhide nodded, hearing Optimus fall into step behind him as Ratchet stepped off the ship. Ironhide stayed right behind the medic as he too disembarked, his feet touching the concrete as he glanced at the other mechs present.

There was a large blue mech first, followed by a bright yellow mech and a bulky green mech. Ironhide did not recognize any of their faces but much to his relief none of them tried to speak to him as he walked past, save for the young yellow mech who was quickly hushed by Ratchet. He remained quiet after that.

Optimus stopped to speak to the large blue mech, who had up to that point been watching Ironhide closely, and Ironhide was not sure if he should stop too but Ratchet urged him on.

“Come,” the medic said. “It’s late and I think you would like some time to rest.”

Ironhide did not say yes but he did not argue either, merely following Ratchet as the medic lead him to a lift. Jazz and Prowl were already inside, and although he had nothing against either mech—well, nothing he was concerned about here, particularly regarding a certain silver mech now known as ‘Jazz’—he honestly would not have been averse to it just being himself and Ratchet.

Or even just himself. Ironhide felt that he could really use some time alone.

Maybe a good night’s rest would help him stop feeling this way.

/* * */

The lift stopped at what appeared to be a medical floor, and although Ratchet had stated earlier that Ironhide was not going to be in a med bay for the night, the weapons specialist could not help but internally question that statement as he and Ratchet got off. Prowl and Jazz remained behind, their destination unknown to Ironhide.

He followed the medic down a long hallway, rows and rows of identical doors on either side, until Ratchet stopped at one. With the swipe of a keycard, he opened the door.

Keycards had not been in common use for quite a while, Ironhide’s data files informed him. It was curious to see them being used here.

Ratchet lead him inside. “The med bay is nearby, but this floor is where the medics’ quarters are. Each has a single room. Will this be all right for the time being?”

Ironhide glanced around the room, though he was not really studying it. “This will be fine,” he said.

Ratchet nodded. “All right. My quarters are right next door. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

Ironhide nodded once. “All right.”

“There is some energon on the nightstand for you. If you can finish it by morning, it should help you feel better.”

Ironhide nodded again. “Understood.”

“Very good.” Ratchet took a step back. “Then I will leave you to get some rest. Have a good night.”

“Good night, Ratchet,” Ironhide responded.

The medic smiled slightly and turned away, seeing himself to the door and closing it behind him. Ironhide watched him leave, some ill-defined emotion briefly flickering in his processor, then he turned to study the room in more detail.

The walls were painted with several tones of either neutral grays or bluish grays, Ironhide could not really tell in the dim light, but it was calming whatever it was. The room was also sparsely but adequately furnished, creating a sense of space but also of coziness. Nothing was too far away, but he felt that he had room to move around too. And of course the berth was extremely inviting, as was the energon Ratchet had mentioned.

Ironhide walked over to the large window on the opposite wall, wanted to see what was outside even those his frame protested the movement. He glanced at the cityscape that was brightly lit against the night sky, the view quite impressive from this many stories up.

Out of instinct, Ironhide scanned the glass to see what it was made of.

It was shatter-resistant but not shatter-proof. And random strike, even a heavy one on the face of the glass would not break it, but it could be broken with a well-placed strike on one of the corners. The laws of physics applied here.

Why was he even thinking this?

The weapons specialist also found himself walking over to the door, seeing if it had been locked from the outside.

No, it had not been.

Ironhide pondered that for a second. He could go anywhere...

But he would not. Right now, all he wanted to do was recharge.


	35. Chapter 35

Ratchet woke up early in the morning—too early to check on Ironhide, as the mech certainly needed his rest, but late enough that the Autobot medic did not really see _much_ point in trying to get back to recharge.

However, he also did not really feel like starting the orn yet. There was so very much to do, and he himself had just gotten back from a long and relatively tiring excursion. A few more joors of rest would not hurt anything...

Ratchet sighed, tossing in his berth. He finally settled on lying on his right side, although he found that it was not any more comfortable than the position he had been lying in before.

The medic also found himself wondering if Ironhide was restless too.

Ironhide seemed to have improved markedly in the short amount of time they were on the ship. If it had not been for that, Ratchet would have certainly kept him in the med bay overnight.

But no mechs recharged well in the med bay, and recharge was what would do Ironhide the most good right now. Making it easier for the mech’s own systems to repair themselves was almost always better than what Ratchet could do.

Ironhide would need supportive care during the orn of course, especially if the veteran warrior could not keep any orally-ingested energon down. Ratchet had put an antiemetic as well as a painkiller in the energon he had given Ironhide on the ship to hopefully keep the mech from purging his tanks again, although it may not be something that Ratchet could completely stop. It was a vicious cycle—the mech’s systems were too stressed to process the fuel efficiently, hence any energon in his tanks became an irritant that would be expelled, yet a major cause of that stress _was_ the lack of fuel.

Or at least, Ratchet hoped that that was all it was. Of course it could also be an early sign that the mech was indeed carrying, but it seemed too early for that.

Unless Ratchet had been off in his calculation...

But no, that did not make sense. The first decaorn was highly predictable, and the only other outward sign that Ratchet would expect to see before then was...

_An aversion to being in close physical contact with another_ , as Ratchet’s medical textbook from so many decavorns ago had worded it. That sign typically began on the third or fourth orn and would go away by the tenth, when the newly-created spark was not so fragile.

Ratchet started a little at that thought, suddenly realizing that Ironhide’s shying away from him may not have just been due to the mech’s injuries.

He needed to do another exam, to get a better estimate of exactly _when_ this had happened.

Had his field equipment been miscalibrated?

Primus, Ratchet was still finding it all so hard to believe. Out of all the things that could have happened, Ironhide was _carrying_.

And whose sparkling was it? Would they suspect that Ironhide was carrying?

Ratchet had even gone through every file the Autobots had on Ironhide and all the individuals he was known to associate with, looking for any hint as to whether or not the weapons specialist had been involved with someone and who that someone might have been, but he found nothing conclusive. Nor had Ironhide ever mentioned anyone.

Of course, even if the weapons specialist had had prior relations with another Decepticon, that did not mean that this had not been a one-time occurrence.

But still, that did not answer the question of _how_ this had happened. A mech could interface, yes, but the protocols necessary to actually conceive were slow to come online and they would not successfully do so unless the mech was in the presence another individual, one with whom he felt a strong connection to, for at least some amount of time.

Only then would interfacing actually result in the creation of a spark. One that had traits of both parents.  
The latter thought scared Ratchet a little bit. While a heat cycle could only be initiated by a suitable partner, anyone whom the receptive individual then interfaced with could sire the sparkling.

The medic put a hand over his face. Why was he even putting so much thought into this? And at this time of the orn?

He should be at least _trying_ to recharge. Not pondering things that most mechs would consider ‘TMI’ or borderline inappropriate at best.

Ratchet pushed himself up with a groan, swinging his legs over the edge of the berth and running a hand over his tired face. Primus, he felt like he had only recharged for two joors.

And maybe he had. After all, all he could remember of last night were restless feelings and obscure thoughts that did not make sense and dreams that he could not remember.

It was not like the medic to recharge so poorly. It must have been because he was so preoccupied with Ironhide.

Ratchet’s thoughts were drawn again to his medical textbook, and the chapter that he thought would be the last one he would ever need. He reached over and pulled open his desk drawer, not even sure what it was he wanted to read. Maybe he just needed to do something.

However, it seemed that his thoughts still could not escape Ironhide—the memory core that the weapons specialist had given him was sitting on top of his textbook. Ratchet had forgotten that he had put it there, to keep it safe.

The medic picked up the small device, holding it in his hand. It felt cold and lifeless now, in stark contrast to how warm it had been when Ironhide had first given it to him. Of course that was just because it had recently been used then, but it seemed an unintentional reminder that Ironhide had been without something that was so important to him for quite a while now.

Silently, Ratchet wondered if he was doing the right thing by withholding it.

Did he really think that this Ironhide would have such a hard time trusting him? Should he at least tell him that he had it?

And why did he not tell Optimus? Maybe he was afraid that the Prime’s uncanny ability to make connections between things would cause him to conclude...

To conclude what? There was nothing... Ratchet had merely in the right place at the right time to be of some use to Ironhide. Decepticons always did what was in their own best interest.

But Ratchet somehow could not believe that that was true. Yes, the memory core was of no benefit to Ratchet at all, but had Ironhide’s decision to give it to him been a sign of trust rather than an act of desperation?

The medic wondered how much was on the core, and how much was not on it. What exactly ‘everything’ was when it came to the weapons specialist’s memories. How much had he seen, and what had he felt?

Idly, Ratchet plugged the memory core into a data port on his wrist to see what kind of encryption the Decepticons were using. Of course he had no intention of trying to hack it, he could not do that in good conscience, but he was curious to see what little bit of information he could glean from it.

However, the results that soon popped up on his HUD were not at all what the Autobot field medic had been expecting.

_Encryption level: none._

What? That _had_ to be wrong... No mech would leave something _that_ personal completely unprotected. Gaining access to  all of Ironhide's thoughts, feelings, and experiences as of the time Ratchet last saw him before Kaon would literally be as easy as plugging the memory core into a datapad.

Had the veteran warrior been too rushed or too tired to encrypt it, thinking that Ratchet would not check anyway? Or...

Was it possible that Ironhide had left it unencrypted on purpose? Was it some kind of unspoken request, saying that he _wanted_ Ratchet to access it?

Ratchet glanced briefly at his desk, where his datapad lied innocuously on the smooth surface.

Should he...?

The medic was torn now. The ethical part of his processor was telling him that it was wrong, that he had no right to think that he knew Ironhide so well and that the mech would certainly not want an invasion of privacy on that level, but the emotional part was telling him that he needed to know more about Ironhide, to understand him, and that it was not really wrong because he would not judge anything he saw and because Ironhide must have known that leaving it insecure could mean that someone may access it. And, maybe to a certain extent, Ratchet wanted to feel trusted enough to believe that someone had wanted to share something so personal with him.

Maybe there was something Ironhide wanted to him to know, but that he had not found it in himself to say.

Ratchet picked up his datapad, the smooth screen glinting in the pale light from the window, his thumb resting on the power button. All he had to do was switch it on and connect to Ironhide’s memory core...

But Ratchet could not bring himself to do it. He hastily set the datapad down, and put the memory core back in his desk drawer.

Was he afraid of what he would find? Or what he would not find?

Maybe it was both.


	36. Chapter 36

Ironhide suddenly found himself being attacked, though he did not know by who. Everything was so blindingly bright that he could not see anything.

And although he somehow felt that he had been through this a thousand times before, he could not help but feel as if this time he would not survive it.

Ironhide felt the sting of a blade slicing across his armor and he genuinely began to panic. He had nothing to defend himself, and although he had been managing to hold his own—albeit barely—up until this point, he did not know how much longer he could keep it up. He was tiring so fast.

Suddenly, his audios picked up the sound of a familiar voice calling his name in the distance.

“Ironhide, this way!”

Ironhide glanced to the side and saw the Autobot medic standing in the whiteness, the mech much closer than Ironhide would have expected.

Ratchet gestured for him to follow. “Come on!”

Then, as if some kind of fog had lifted, Ironhide was all of sudden aware of where they were—it appeared to be a desert, the pale-colored sand swirling around him.

The attacks seemed to have stopped as well, but Ironhide did not have time to think about that. Ratchet turned and began to run and Ironhide took off after him, fearing that the attacks would begin again or that he would be stopped.

But no one stopped him.

However, Ratchet was much faster. The medic’s slender form was quickly shrinking and the distance between them grew larger, and although Ironhide was running as fast as he could, it felt as if he was barely moving.

Was it the sand that was slowing him down? But no, that did not make sense... Why did Ratchet seem to have no trouble with it?

Ironhide was venting hard as he finally managed to catch up to Ratchet, though it was only because the medic had slowed his pace as he approached the edge of a sheer cliff. Ironhide was not yet close enough to tell how far down it was, but he could see the canyon on the other side brightly illuminated by the setting sun. He slowed down too as he got close to Ratchet.

“Come on,” the medic urged him again, turning toward the edge as if he was about to jump.

Ironhide faltered, unable to believe what he was seeing. “Ratchet...” he panted, “please, stop...”

He could not finish what he wanted to say, but the medic seemed to understand him.

“It’s just an illusion,” Ratchet said. “A visual cliff. It’s not real.”

Ironhide drew in a haggard vent of air and forced himself to take a step closer but then he hesitated, glancing at the dizzyingly deep gorge that his sensors and his optics told him was all too real.

The medic merely smiled at him, putting a hand on Ironhide’s rigid shoulder. “Do you trust me?”

Ironhide glanced at the chartreuse mech, his light-colored optics radiating calm like a pale blue sea, and then glanced at the sky, which was growing dark with clouds, then at the gorge which could not be anything but real.

Ironhide was too afraid to look back the way he had came, certain that he would see whomever they had been running from not far behind.

“Don’t look down. Just jump,” Ratchet told him. Then, giving the weapons specialist no time to think, Ratchet leapt off the edge.

“Ratchet!” the veteran warrior scrambled to the edge of the cliff to try to save Ratchet, but the medic had disappeared into thin air.

Ironhide wanted to cry out. He was alone, and terrified, and he just knew that he was not going to be able to survive this on his own. He felt it so strongly in his spark...

Believing he had no other choice, and having nothing to lose, he jumped just as the medic had.

But rather than disappearing into some kind of safety, he found himself falling to the ground below. Seconds passed, but nothing changed.

Ironhide braced himself, mentally and physically, just before hitting the ground...

The weapons specialist awoke with a start, his spark racing in his chest as he quickly unshuttered his optics. He then realized that it was dark, and that he was still lying on the berth in the little solitary room where he had gone into recharge. His sensors detected no other beings.

Primus, had that all been a dream? Ironhide could still feel the terror surging through his thoughts, and although he knew for a fact that the room was empty, he was still too frightened to even lift his head up off the berth to take a look around.

He drew in a vent of air, hoping he could calm himself.

Several breems passed before Ironhide’s spark rate settled down to something that resembled normal. He then carefully pushed himself up to a sitting position, noting that the room felt much colder than it had initially. Should he ask Ratchet for a thermal blanket?

No, he did not want to disturb the medic. With some effort he hauled himself to his feet, his balance not quiet as good as it had been earlier. He felt lightheaded as well, but it was not bad. If it got significantly worse, then he would tell him.

Ironhide knelt down and quietly opened one of the drawers of the nightstand, looking for a thermal blanket. He found one a few seconds later, and after struggling ever so slightly to push himself back up off the floor to sit on the berth, he contently covered himself with it. He also noticed the small cube of energon that Ratchet had left for him.

Ironhide had not touched it yet, having been too tired earlier to worry about such things, but now it looked so very inviting.

He picked it up, taking a small sip of the blue liquid before he settled down to go back to recharge.

/* * */

Ratchet was a bit disconcerted to find that Ironhide had purged his energon sometime in the middle of the night. He should have known that the weapons specialist needed to spend the night in the med bay, but at least the mech was there now.

And he was watching closely with his red optics as Ratchet wandered back and forth to gather this or that piece of diagnostic equipment, the medic in all actuality just putting off what he knew he really needed to do. Perhaps his thoughts from the night before were still getting to him.

Ratchet was at least glad that no one could see into his processor—he felt almost ashamed for having been thinking so much about Ironhide and how the mech had gotten sparked. It was completely irrelevant from a medical standpoint and certainly none of his concern in any other way, yet again and again he found himself wanting to know what Ironhide had been through. And not just with that, but before it as well.

Perhaps he had allowed himself to get entirely too close to this whole situation. Maybe he needed to take a step back and try to distance himself from it.

Ironhide and Ratchet both looked up as another mech entered the med bay. Ratchet was relieved to see that it was Ultra Magnus, as Optimus seemed to have an uncanny ability to not only show up when Ratchet already had too much on his mind but also to see right through any attempts the medic made to hide that fact.

Not that Ratchet ever did not want his leader and friend to be there for him, he just sometimes did not feel like trying to explain himself, nor did he want Optimus to think that he did not want to confide in him. Ratchet just found it difficult to talk about things when he himself was not even sure of what he was feeling.

Ratchet felt the weapons specialist tense up as Ultra Magnus approached, the medic having been moving some of the wires from the diagnostic equipment that ran along the back mech’s frame. “Easy,” he said gently. “Ultra Magnus is a friend.”

Ironhide did relax slightly, though he kept a wary optic on the blue mech who had now stopped only a handful of steps away from them.

“Magnus,” Ratchet greeted him. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Ultra Magnus rested his hands on the edge of a nearby counter. “Harmony and Slidedrive are here to see you,” he informed the medic. “They know they’re early, but I told them I would let you know.”

He could have let him know through a comm message, Ratchet thought, but he had a feeling he knew why Ultra Magnus had chosen to come here instead. The large blue mech had always seemed to hold Ironhide in high regard—more so than any other Decepticons, even those as equally high-ranking—and he had always taken at least some interest in what was going on with the mech. “All right,” Ratchet replied to him. “I should be done here shortly.”

Ultra Magnus nodded but did not make any attempt to leave, which was fine with Ratchet. Ironhide could use a distraction while the medic ran his tests, and even though he was no longer looking at the large Autobot, Ratchet knew that Ultra Magnus still held at least some of the black mech’s attention.

“Ironhide,” Ratchet addressed him, “I’m going to run a deeper scan this time. It might feel uncomfortable but it won't hurt."

Ironhide nodded once but did not say anything, which was not a surprise as lately he had been getting non-verbal in the presence of more than one mech. Or at least that was what it seemed like to Ratchet. He had not asked about it because Ironhide was likely already stressed from being put in a new situation and Ratchet simply did not want to give the mech anything else to think about. As long as the weapons specialist did not respond to any anxiety in a way that was inappropriate, Ratchet would leave him be.

“All right.” Ratchet picked up his scanner, a more precise one this time than he had had out in the field. He proceeded to scan Ironhide from his helm to his feet, the weapons specialist already knowing to stay still.

The scanner beeped when it was done, and Ratchet took a moment to zoom in on the still image that was of the most concern to him. He analyzed it quickly but carefully, running calculations in his head, coming to a conclusion in just a handful of seconds.

It seemed that the sparkling was indeed older than Ratchet had originally suspected, although it was only by an orn or two. At least that did explain why the mech was having a hard time keeping any energon down—one or two orns along versus three or four would make a difference as far as that was concerned. Ironhide’s systems would be quite imbalanced right now.

Ratchet turned to the only other Autobot nearby. “Ultra Magnus, could you wait outside for a moment?”

Ultra Magnus nodded before taking a step back, recognizing when Ratchet wanted to discuss something privately with his patient. “Of course.”

Ratchet waited for him to leave before he turned to Ironhide, who was watching him curiously but patiently. Ratchet only held his gaze for a few seconds before he looked away, unsure of how much he should tell him and what he should say. But he knew he had to say _something_ —it was not fair to keep Ironhide in the dark.

“Is it getting worse?” Ironhide asked suddenly.

The medic glanced at him then, unsure of exactly what the black mech was referring to. "Is what getting worse?"

"Whatever I have," Ironhide replied.

Ratchet paused for a moment. "No," he began, but then he corrected himself. "I mean, you don't 'have' anything. You’ve just been through a lot and sometimes it isn’t easy getting past it."

Ironhide nodded and glanced away, seeming to accept that explanation. But Ratchet knew he owed Ironhide more than that.

“Here,” he said, pulling the memory core that Ironhide had given him so long ago out of subspace and handing it to the black mech. “This is yours. You gave it to me a little while back in case anything like this happened to you.”

Confusion written on his faceplates, Ironhide took it tentatively, turning it over in his hand. " _I_ gave this to you?"

Ratchet nodded. "Yes. It contains almost all the information you are missing about your past."  


Ironhide still looked confused, as if he did not understand anything Ratchet was telling him. "Were we friends?"

Ratchet pursed his lip plates, realizing that he should just answer honestly as Ironhide was not going to remember any of this anyway. Not once he reloaded his memory core, at least. "I would like to think so."

He could not bring himself to tell Ironhide anything more, about anything.


	37. Chapter 37

It was too soon, Ratchet feared as he walked away. Ironhide had not been ready for that, he could see it in the mech's face, but the Autobot medic simply could not hold onto the memory core any longer. It was just too much of a temptation, and he was afraid that if his resolve cracked and he started delving into it, he would not be able to stop. And of course, there was still the idea that it was morally wrong to begin with. After all, Ironhide had given him no such permission.

Stepping out of the med bay and into the hall, Ratchet was not surprised to find Ultra Magnus waiting outside for him. Optimus Prime's second-in-command did not stop by just for something to do, so if he had taken the time to seek Ratchet out, it was because he had something he wanted to discuss.

Or perhaps the blue mech was just curious about how their unplanned rescue mission in Kaon had went. Of course Ultra Magnus had been present in the hangar when they all arrived back in Iacon, but as far as Ratchet knew, Optimus had yet to have the time to discuss the details with him.

Oh, the details... Ratchet would not even know where to begin. How long had it been since there had been any semblance of planning to his actions? When did this 'mission' even start, anyway?

Ratchet was too run down to even think about it. Everything over the past however many decaorns had run together into one giant and exhausting blur, though Ratchet managed to muster up a weak smile to greet Ultra Magnus before he then began walking down the hall to his next obligation—a meeting convened on short notice with the two civilian Autobots that would very likely end up being surrogate parents to Ironhide’s as of yet unborn offspring, should they decide that they were up to the task.

"You look tired," Ultra Magnus noted pointedly, falling into step beside Ratchet.

The Autobot medic cast him a sideways glance. "If you came all the way here just to tell me that, I could have spared you the trip."

"Have you had your post-combat exams?" Ultra Magnus continued, undeterred by the medic’s usually gruff reply.

Ratchet stopped short, clearly frustrated. “I just got back last night. I set up Ironhide for the night and then retired to my own quarters. His post-combat exams were first on my list for this morning, and now I’m standing here talking to you. When would I have had time for my own exams?”

The medic realized the moment he said it that his attitude was completely uncalled for, especially considering that he was talking to a superior. But rather than try to hastily apologize for it, he simply waited for the rebuke that he knew was coming.

However, Ultra Magnus simply regarded him with as much patience as the Prime himself would have. “Easy, Ratchet. I was merely asking a question.”

Ratchet said nothing, feeling even more guilty now that he did not get the reprimand he deserved. He waited for Ultra Magnus to speak.

“Get it done when you can,” the blue mech said patiently. “Preferably sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I would like to know what’s going on with Ironhide. Something has seemed off about him since he got back but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it.”

Ratchet let out a sigh, glancing at the floor as he began walking down the hallway again. “Ironhide has little to no recollection of any personal events, save for those of the last few orns. It seems that the Decepticon solution when he went rogue was to start over with a clean slate.”

"He went rogue?" Ultra Magnus sounded surprised. "On the Decepticons?"

"Yes, he did," the medic replied. Had it really been that long since he had discussed this with his superiors? It all seemed like ancient history to Ratchet. "And there’s more."

Ultra Magnus looked at him. "More?"

He might as well tell him, Ratchet thought. Ultra Magnus was second in command to Optimus Prime and this was something he was going to need to know. "Ironhide is also carrying a sparkling that is approximately four orns old, and of unknown genetic heritage."

Ultra Magnus did not stop short or even falter in the slightest as Ratchet had expected him to, the larger mech instead continuing to walk gracefully beside Ratchet.

“Is he capable of carrying a sparkling in his current condition?” Ultra Magnus asked, following a long moment of silence.

“Not really,” Ratchet replied. “I am trying to find a surrogate now.”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “Is that the meeting you have now?”

“Yes. Slidedrive and Harmony are the perfect candidates. Slidedrive has acted as a surrogate on two other occasions, whereas Harmony has a genetic defect that renders her sterile. They both have a strong desire to help others while they wait to adopt their own sparkling.”

“Sounds promising,” Ultra Magnus responded, stopping as Ratchet did to enter the access code for the lift. “How do you know them?”

Ratchet gestured for Ultra Magnus to step into the lift, then he himself also stepped inside. “Slidedrive and Jazz are good friends. They used to compete in many of the same drag racing tournaments. Slidedrive still competes, though her true occupation is as a computer hardware technician.”

“I see.” Ultra Magnus hit the button for the third floor, already knowing where Ratchet needed to go. “And Harmony?”

“I don’t know her personally. She is a counselor that primarily provides advice regarding career and/or life issues.”

Ultra Magnus nodded again, stepping out into a different hallway as the lift stopped and opened its doors. “And how is Ironhide taking all of this?”

Ratchet stepped into the hallway after the larger mech, then stopped to continue their conversation. “Ironhide doesn’t know.”

Ultra Magnus shot him a hard glance, turning to face the smaller mech. “Ratchet, you should tell him. He has a right to know about something like this.”

Ratchet looked away. He knew Ultra Magnus was right, he just did not trust Ironhide’s judgment.

Or maybe it was his own judgment he did not trust. “I know,” was all Ratchet could think to say. “Believe me, I know. And I am going to tell him, just not yet. There are too many other things going on right now.”

“For him, or you?” Ultra Magnus asked, his voice not giving away anything he might be thinking.

The Autobot medic paused. Why did it seem like everyone else could read him like an unlocked datapad, yet he had virtually no ability to read others that way? He was still not sure if Ultra Magnus was accusing him or not. “A little of both, I suppose.”

But if the blue mech was accusing him, he did not show it. “All right. I can understand that.”

Ratchet nodded once, silently appreciative that Ultra Magnus had decided not to push the issue further. Sometimes, all Ratchet wanted was to be understood. And hopefully, to be able to find out for himself if the decisions he made were the right ones.

“Well, I suppose I should let you get to your meeting,” Ultra Magnus continued, sensing that Ratchet had calmed down and that their conversation had come to an end. “If you need anything, feel free to let me know.”

“I will, Magnus. Thank you,” Ratchet replied. Ultra Magnus lightly touched Ratchet’s shoulder with his fingertips before he turned and walked away, another gesture which Ratchet did not fully understand.

Did he really look that... tired? Frustrated? Worn down?

Or perhaps he just put too much thought into everything. It would be nice sometimes, to be able to just let it all go...

Ratchet ran a hand over his face, the fatigue finally catching up with him. Either that, or it had been there the entire time and he was just now noticing it.

But it did not matter either way. He would finish this meeting, and then maybe seek some medical attention for himself and get some rest before the afternoon.

However, no sooner had Ratchet resigned himself to finishing what he needed to finish and then trying to spend some time taking care of himself than the panicked voice of Jolt came over the emergency comm.

At first Ratchet could not understand him, but then the words came together.

“ _I need security in the med bay!”_ Jolt was yelling. _“Now!”_

Ratchet thought he heard a crash in the background. “Jolt, what’s going on?” he asked even as he hastily turned back the way he had came.

He knew something like this would happen. He  _knew_ it!

But the junior medic’s response was not what he expected, and it made Ratchet’s spark sink.

“ _Ironhide’s gone crazy! I can’t control him!”_


	38. Chapter 38

Ratchet sprinted through the narrow corridors back toward the med bay, thinking all the while that there must have been _something_ that he should have done differently.

What could have went wrong? Why was this happening now?

Ironhide had been fine, he had _always_ been fine, up until this very moment.

Ratchet’s surroundings passed by in a featureless blur, the medic paying no more attention to the sterile walls and pale green doors than he needed to to know where he was.

It _had_ to be the memory core. Perhaps something had happened, maybe something traumatic that had been stored in it, and for some reason it was just now manifesting itself in the weapon’s specialist.

Why had Ratchet not thought of that earlier? Why had he not checked the memory core to make sure it was safe regardless of what his stupid sense of morals had told him?

He knew better. As a medic it had been his job to check it.

Could it have even been tampered with by the Decepticons?

No, that was not possible. Ratchet had kept it locked away and hidden in his quarters ever since he had gotten back to Iacon. And before that he had kept it very well concealed—even the Decepticons had not detected the small device hiding underneath the panels of his forearm.

But Ratchet did not have time to reminisce about any events that had taken place more than a few moments ago, as he was now standing in front of the med bay door. He listened for just a second to see if he could hear anything, but all his audios picked up was the sound of his own pounding spark. He tried to calm himself, his usually steady hands shaking as he entered the access code, the door looming above him silently as he entered it wrong and had to do it again.

Ratchet forcibly steadied himself before opening the door.

And when he did, time oddly enough seemed to slow down. The rush of getting here quickly faded away even though there clearly was a situation. Ratchet studied what was going on, still standing in the entrance, everything before him seeming to be happening in slow motion.

The first thing Ratchet noticed was Jolt, the blue medic crouched behind a workbench that was not far from where Ratchet was standing. Jolt appeared unharmed, if anything perhaps a little afraid, but still standing by in case his services were required. A sense of duty was certainly something that Jolt had and Ratchet was inwardly quite proud to be the one mentoring him. He had a lot of potential.

But enough of that for now. Where was Ironhide?

Ratchet’s optics shifted to look farther into the room, and that was when he spotted the bulky mech.

Ironhide had backed himself into the wall at some point, heavy scrapes and gouges marring the otherwise flawless surface, but apparently that was only after becoming tangled in the cords of the now-shattered monitoring devices that he was even now still trying frantically to escape from. There was also bright blue energon all over the floor, but Ratchet suspected that it was from the mech’s IV bag as he seemed to have very little on his armor.

Ratchet pinged Jolt, asking the other medic what—if anything—he had done to try to calm Ironhide or diffuse the situation, as well as exactly what had happened to start this, but although Ratchet felt in his processor that he had time to think, it quickly became clear that the outside world was not going to wait for him to do so.

Ratchet just happened to catch out the corner of his optic that Inferno, one of the mechs in charge of security on this floor, had raised his weapon to shoot at Ironhide. Ratchet had not even noticed that Inferno was in the room, nor did he have time to say anything before the red Autobot unleashed his most powerful stun blast in Ironhide’s direction.

Ratchet did not even hear the blast. He did see the shower of sparks that exploded around the weapons specialist, and he saw Ironhide fall just as Optimus sprinted into the room. The blue and red mech stopped then, glancing around the room as Ratchet had, and finally looking at _Ratchet_ for guidance. After all, Ironhide would not be a danger now.

And all of a sudden, Ratchet’s world seemed to speed up to normal.

Ironhide hit the ground, _hard_ , but he still managed to keep his hands under him as if he might push himself up. But Ratchet knew he would not—the jolt from that stun blast was just too strong. The mech was shaking almost uncontrollably as he tried but failed to regain control of his own systems, the electric shock proving to be far more than he was able to override. His vents hitched as even his most basic subroutines were interrupted, leaving him incapable of managing even his most basic needs. Needs that _he_ could go without for a little while, but that a smaller being could not...

"What the frag did you do?" Ratchet yelled at Inferno. "He could lose the—"

But the medic quickly stopped himself, realizing that he was in the presence of several mechs who did not need to know certain information right now.

All optics were on Ratchet. "Clear the room. Now," he said instead, abandoning his original line of thought. "Optimus, help me. We're doing this right now."

Optimus seemed to know what Ratchet meant. Together they hoisted the shaking black mech onto the berth that he should have been restrained on to begin with. _Hindsight_ , Ratchet thought. Though he still had no idea what had happened.

Ironhide’s jet-black armor banged loudly against the stainless steel as they laid him down, loud enough that Ratchet knew they had set him down too hard, but _Primus_ the mech was heavy...

“Now?” Optimus spoke up then, an unusual trace of uncertainly in his usually confident voice.

It was too early, Ratchet thought. That was Optimus’s concern.

Ratchet glanced around quickly to make sure everyone else had indeed left before he answered. "Ironhide can survive this much of an electrical imbalance, but the sparkling won't. It's too much."

Optimus nodded, grabbing the restraints that had been hanging unused and fastening Ironhide’s extremities to the berth. Ironhide was likely not going anywhere, but he was still trying to fight them, and with only two mechs to manage him, it would be easier if that was not an issue.

“Get me a container of isotonic solution,” Ratchet commanded his leader, the medic himself pulling open a nearby drawer and reaching for an aerosol can that contained the strongest topical anesthetic he had. He shook the can and started spraying it on Ironhide’s chest, the larger mech seeming oblivious to to it as he continued to shake with his optics closed tightly. Inferno had nailed him pretty good, that much was certain.

Ratchet glanced up as Optimus returned with the solution he had asked for. Ratchet took it from him and set it aside, Optimus stepping back to wait for Ratchet’s next request and stay out of the way. Ratchet did not really need any help from here on, but he definitely wanted to have someone on standby. And to witness what was going to be an extremely important event in Ironhide’s life.

Turning to face Ironhide fully, Ratchet fired up his cutting torch.

Ironhide was still conscious Ratchet knew, but the mech had no idea what was going on. He touched the torch to Ironhide’s thick metal panels but the mech did not react in the slightest.

Ratchet’s spark truly ached for him then—the mech had to be in agony. The torch was extremely hot, and even though he had numbed the area, Ironhide would still feel it.

Unless everything else felt so much worse.

Ratchet glanced up at Optimus, the red and blue mech watching him silently, and then he resigned himself to do what he had to do before it was too late.

The panels on Ironhide’s chest actually cut easier than Ratchet had expected them to. He cut only what he had to before pulling the panels back to expose Ironhide’s pulsing blue spark.

That was when he got his first glimpse of what would be Ironhide's first offspring.

The new spark was tiny and it looked so incredibly fragile, though it did already have the beginnings of a delicate metal framework that would one orn protect it from shocks and impacts and anything else in the outside world that might endanger it. And surprisingly enough, it did not yet seem to be affected by the surges of power that even now were making Ironhide’s own spark pulse so erratically. Perhaps that what was Ironhide was fighting—he was directing all of his resources to keep the surges away from the sparkling?

It was hard to say. But Ratchet knew one thing for certain—the fine spider web of thin tendrils that attached this new spark to Ironhide’s own would never handle an overload of current. The medic reached down and carefully grasped around thin metal cage that barely took up any space in his hand, getting ready to do the one last thing he needed to do to ensure its survival.  
  
Ratchet could have sworn that he felt Ironhide flinch as he tore the new spark away.


	39. Chapter 39

A spike in his vitals was what clued Ratchet in to the fact that Ironhide was waking up. And it was about time—the mech had been out for joors now and Ratchet was admittedly a bit anxious to start figuring out exactly what had happened in the med bay.

But of course he did not let that show, his face impassive and neutral.

He had taken the opportunity after the sparkling had been... _removed_... to sedate and then properly operate on the black fighter as the mech was in desperate need of several critical interventions. There had been the old injuries that had never been treated properly, newer injuries that had not been treated at all, and of course all the complications that came with carrying a sparkling for the first time while being ill-prepared for it.

Considering all that, it really was no surprise that Ironhide was being slow to come back online.

The sparkling on the other hand was doing extremely well. The transfer had been seamless, and Ratchet expected no complications or ill effects.

How Ratchet was going to go about informing Ironhide of everything was not so straightforward, and quite frankly the medic was more than a little bit uncomfortable about bringing it up. What was he supposed to tell him? That he had interfaced with someone and gotten sparked but they did not know by whom? That he found no evidence that it was forced yet the alternative seemed completely implausible?

Speaking of Ironhide, the mech’s vitals spiked again as his frame moved for the first time in what seemed like ages to the Autobot medic. He would certainly be conscious now, and although he had been restrained to the berth as a precaution, Ratchet had a feeling that it would not be needed this time.

He watched as the mech let out a groan and shifted himself a little, the glint of fresh welds on his chest reflecting the overhead lights, though the movement seemed to exhaust him. Either that or he had been exhausted to begin with, which was probably much more likely. Considering how low his reserves were, Ratchet was surprised that he had managed to stay upright before he came here.

The medic had done everything he could to make it easier for Ironhide’s systems to perform their own various functions. He had placed a thermal blanket on the mech to facilitate any metabolic reactions, he had again placed him on a constant energon drip with a sufficient dose of painkiller added to it, and he had even administered a mild sedative to make sure Ironhide did not get too worked up.

And his interventions seemed to be working, as for a second it looked as if Ironhide—albeit slowly—was just going to push himself up. He started to, anyway, until the restraints stopped him.

He did open his optics upon realizing he was immobilized, but there was no flash of panic like Ratchet had expected. The medic was taking constant notes in his mind as he silently watched the black mech glance around, becoming more aware of what was around him.

And that moment when Ironhide’s red optics finally locked on Ratchet was when the medic realized that he somehow felt like an oddly detached outside observer. He knew Ironhide was looking at him but he remained frozen, only his gentle venting to give away that he was animate at all, feeling as if his processor was stuck somehow.

But Ironhide glanced away after only a short time, shuttering his optics as if the overhead lights were too bright for him.

“Ratchet,” he said, his voice hoarse.

The black Decepticon said no more, though Ratchet was not exactly sure if the mech had said his name as a mere acknowledgement of his presence or as the beginning of a request. But the one thing he did catch in the mech’s tone of voice was genuine _recognition_ —not just the mech superficially remembering what his designation and function were, but actually _knowing_ who he was and remembering everything that they had been through. This was the Ironhide he had known.

And he had almost sounded relieved to realize that he was in the medic’s presence.

Or had he?

Ratchet shook it off, pushing a button to release the restraints that bound Ironhide’s hands and legs. Ironhide did not move at first, though after a moment he lifted his hand to cover his face.

“How are you feeling?” the medic asked, trying to get himself back to the present moment.

Ironhide did not answer right away, instead drawing in a large vent of air. “Functional,” he finally said, “or at least my self-diagnostics tell me so.”

Ratchet could not help but smile a little at that, even though Ironhide had said it in complete seriousness. “You have improved quite markedly even in the last joor or so. I don’t foresee you having any permanent physiologic issues from what you went through, other than slightly reduced vision in your right optic.”

With some effort, Ironhide removed his hand from his face to look at him. “That will be permanent?”

“The lens had already fused incorrectly, damaging some of the sensors underneath,” Ratchet explained. “There was nothing I could do.”

Ironhide glanced away and nodded once, looking up at the ceiling as he slid the thermal blanket mostly off of himself. Apparently he felt too warm to need it.

“I’m sorry about that,” Ratchet continued, “and I should let you know that it will probably be a few more joors before you can thermoregulate on your own. Side effect of the anesthetic.”

Ironhide continued staring idly at the ceiling. “Great,” he said with a slight hint of disdain, though his thoughts seemed to be predominantly elsewhere.

Ratchet found himself wondering what Ironhide was really thinking about right then. The weapons specialist had always been a hard mech to read—or at least, he had been for as long as Ratchet had known him.

Which was admittedly not that long, but Ironhide had almost always acted indifferent to whatever was going on around him. He was not emotional, not outwardly anyway, but on a few rare occasions Ratchet had caught glimpses of emotions so raw and intense that it suggested that there was much more to the mech’s inner world than his outside demeanor suggested.

“Ironhide,” Ratchet addressed him, “would you mind telling me what happened earlier? In the main med bay?”

Again, Ironhide was a moment in responding. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I just felt overwhelmed. I wasn’t sure where I was.”

“That’s all right,” Ratchet reassured him, sensing that Ironhide had some conflicting emotions and was still a bit overwhelmed even then. “No one was hurt.”

That did seem to make Ironhide feel better, his frame relaxing ever so slightly.

Should he bring it up now? Or was it too early? Ratchet was no more sure than he had been earlier.

But fortunately he did not have to decide right then, as Ironhide continued the conversation.

“How much time am I missing?” the weapons specialist asked. He must have noticed that his chronometer was off.

“Not quite a decaorn,” Ratchet replied. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Ironhide shuttered his optics again, either resting from all the mental activity he was having to do or trying his best to remember.

“Outside Kaon, when it was you and I,” he answered. “I had intended to give you the memory core I was writing at that time.”

Ratchet nodded. “Okay. And needless to say, you did.”

The room was silent other than Ironhide’s not-so-quiet venting. He had since pulled the thermal blanket back partially over himself, having to have been feeling chilled now, and he clearly was having to adjust his venting pattern to account for the tender welds on his chest.

“What am I missing?” Ironhide asked next.

Ratchet pursed his lip plates, drawing in another vent of air as he considered his reply. “Everything from the last three orns you can see our accounts of. That would include most everything from when you left Kaon until you ended up here. We also have accounts of another two orns between when your recollection ends and those last three orns begin, but there are several spans of time in between there that we are unable to account for.”

Ironhide seemed to sense that there were things Ratchet left unsaid because he glanced at him for a long moment but then looked away and said nothing, as if trying to piece together on his own what might have happened.

“Is there anything you want to ask me, or tell me?” Ratchet asked, in case the weapons specialist might want to share anything from earlier that might be of importance. “I will answer the best I can, and nothing need go any further than this room.”

Ironhide was still for a very long moment, and Ratchet was not sure if he was pondering or just tired, although he imagined that the weapons specialist had to be tiring by now.

“No,” Ironhide finally replied. “There’s nothing.”

“Are you doing okay?” Ratchet asked next, wanting to make sure that Ironhide himself felt secure with whatever he might be dealing with.

“I’m fine,” was all he said.

Ratchet felt that it was a lie, but at the same time, who was he to doubt him?

“All right,” Ratchet replied. “But if you ever need anything, I’m here for you.”

The medic paused then, his vision unfocused as he contemplated whether or not he should do it now. Perhaps if he could show Ironhide that he could be trusted to handle even the most sensitive issues with compassion and understanding, the black mech would reach out to him rather than try to work through everything on his own. “And there is something I need to talk to you about...”

Ironhide turned battle-scarred his head to look at him then, respectfully giving him his full attention when it became clear that the conversation had turned more serious.

Ratchet cleared his throat, his gaze steady on the mech that had somehow gone from being his enemy to being... something else. And here was that moment he had been stressing about. “Well, when you came back from Kaon, you were... you were sparked. You were carrying a sparkling that was only a few orns old and I cannot tell you how or where or by who.”

Ratchet was not sure what exactly he had expected Ironhide to do or say, but the black mech’s reaction when he told him the news was certainly not what he had expected.

Ironhide said nothing. Not a word.


	40. Chapter 40

Ratchet still did not understand why Ironhide had reacted the way he did, but he brushed it aside as something he may or may not come to understand later simply so he would not spend too much time dwelling on it. The Decepticon warrior had proven to be a slightly enigmatic individual and for all Ratchet knew maybe the way he reacted to things was by _not_ reacting.

Ratchet could not imagine how that would be true, but once again he needed an explanation to quell his processor. And since Ironhide had as of yet decided not to confide anything personal to any of the Autobots he had found himself around, Ratchet could only hope that Ironhide either would learn to trust other individuals or that he was as strong mentally as he was on the outside.

When Ironhide had said nothing in response to hearing the news that he had been carrying a sparkling, Ratchet had detailed how the sparkling had been transferred to a surrogate due to the circumstances and he had then asked him if he wanted some time alone to gather his thoughts. After all, that had been a lot of information to take in.

Ironhide had elected to have some time to himself, though Ratchet believed it more to be because the mech was physically and mentally exhausted, rather than needing to come to terms with what had happened.

Part of Ratchet did wish that Ironhide trusted him enough to confide in him. After all, the mech had saved his life, watched over him, protected him, and even made sure that he was safely returned to his comrades, and all Ratchet wanted to know was what inner demons the mech was fighting so he could help take some of the burden off of him. It would be the least he could do

Perhaps some orn, he would know what things troubled the black mech.

But not tonight, Ratchet knew. He picked up his datapad from his desk and got up to return to his quarters, shutting off the office light on his way out.

/* * */

Ironhide was venting hard by the time it was over, and although he had expected that, what he had not expected was how his spark seemed to tighten painfully in his chest. That had never happened before, and even as he tried to recover from all the energy he had just expended, he could not figure out what had changed.

This was far from the first time but it had never felt like this.

Was it possible that he had been...

No, that could not be... Those protocols could not possibly be running. He had only been around the Autobot medic, and while they had gotten along well enough, it was never going to go any farther and certainly his CPU had to have known that. It never would have initiated...

Ironhide grunted as his chest seemed to tighten around his spark again. In a way it hurt, yet at the same time it was also oddly gratifying.

_Frag_... Why did it feel so different this time?

“Awake are we, Ironhide?”

The weapons specialist lifted his head, blinking in the dim light as a familiar visage came into focus.

“You seemed rather... eager this time,” his leader, Megatron, continued when he saw that he had Ironhide's attention. “Perhaps associating with the Autobots has done you some good?”

Ironhide snarled weakly, not really knowing what Megatron was talking about and still trying to break through the haze that even now continued to drain him of his energy. “Frag off.”

Megatron grinned. “Now, is that any way to talk to your superior?”

Ironhide did not respond to that, merely waiting as Megatron lifted himself off of him. The tyrant's immense weight had always been enough to put some pressure on even Ironhide's heavy frame, but that unusual tightness did not go away more than slightly upon its removal.

Megatron rose to his full height, Ironhide averting his gaze as the larger mech towered over him. The warlord seemed to be studying him, taking his time despite the fact that it was certainly making his subordinate uncomfortable. Ironhide tensed, but he remained quiet. There was not much else he could do restrained to the berth like he was, and even if he had not been restrained, he knew better than to be blatantly disobedient.

Or at least, he had until recently. But even now his processor was defaulting back to that more familiar pattern of behavior, the one where he simply did what he was told.

Megatron could usually sense when Ironhide yielded to him, typically when the black mech's sharp comments stopped. The fact that Ironhide had muted his vocalizer signaled to Megatron that he had reaffirmed his position of dominance over the former commander, and that for the time being he could leave him be.

Of course, that did not mean he was going to let him up.

“Well, Ironhide,” Megatron spoke up, stepping back to give the weapons specialist a meager amount of space, “before I depart, I have a little proposition for you. Provide Shockwave with all the information you acquired about the Autobots during your time with them, and I will allow you to go free. You can leave Kaon, and the Decepticon cause if you wish, but only if you comply.”

Ironhide met Megatron's gaze then, the black mech's usually stoic appearance now one of fatigue and resignation as he regarded his leader. A moment passed before he looked away and nodded slightly to indicate his agreement.

Megatron patted him on the shoulder, saying something about how he knew Ironhide would make the right choice, and then he turned and left, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind him. Ironhide found himself alone once again and he silently considered what his leader had said, the words playing again in his processor.

He had known from the moment the words were spoken that they were not true. He knew because no Decepticon that possessed any sensitive information was allowed to simply walk away, and he knew because Starscream had told him as much. Ironhide was—for all intents and purposes—Decepticon property, and Megatron was not going to just let him go.

And there was no way he could escape now. Not under his own power, anyway.

The weapons specialist sighed lightly, glancing around the room. He now recognized it as a med bay even though the lighting was so subdued that he could barely see, and it did not help that his damaged right optic was causing his field of vision to be reduced by almost half. He was effectively blind on that side, only able to make out indistinct shapes and colors.

Ironhide shuttered both optics, taking a moment to relax in what little amount of solitude he did have. The pain in his chest had almost completely gone away now, allowing him to think more clearly, and although he still felt extremely fatigued, he tasked his processor with finding one inconspicuous spot in his core coding that he could overwrite and use to hide just one memory file.

This one.

/* * */

Ironhide closed the memory file just as Ratchet walked into the room, tagging it for a rewrite to a better location as the medic walked over to where he sat on the berth. He had never shown Ratchet the memory file, or even told him about it, nor did he intend to, although he knew that Ratchet had been worried about him. He had summoned Ratchet here to talk about the sparkling but he did not know how to begin and so he remained silent, looking forward but focused on nothing in particular.

He had elected to give it up. And while he felt guilty for having done so, he just knew that he was in no position to raise a sparkling. Primus, what qualities did he have that would make him a good guardian?

“Hey,” Ratchet said gently, seeing that Ironhide was conflicted about something. “Are you doing all right?”

Ironhide shifted his weight, turning slightly to face the medic. “As well as can be expected,” he replied. “I will be fine, I'm sure.”

“I'm sure you will,” Ratchet agreed. “You're already fitting in well here.”

Ironhide was not so sure he agreed with that, although Ratchet’s words when it was first brought up that he could join the Autobots replayed in his processor.

_You are who you are, and we'll accept you that way. Any changes you do or do not wish to make will be your choice._

Ironhide wanted to believe that, and he was considering the offer, but they did not know the things he had done, the things he had failed to do, and all the shortcomings that he tried so hard to keep secret.

“Ratchet,” the weapons specialist finally spoke up after the medic had sat in complete silence for several breems patiently waiting for him to continue, “is it too late to ask one thing? About the sparkling?”

After all, the sparkling had been born a few decaorns ago now and Ironhide had chosen not to see it, as he did not want to interfere.

“Too late?” the medic echoed, mildly surprised. “No, of course not. What do you want to know?”

Ironhide paused again, drawing in a vent of air and waiting a long moment before he finally asked, “What... What did they decide to name him?”

Ratchet could not help but smile at Ironhide's almost timid manner of speaking, the larger mech's shyness being something that was rarely seen by anyone.

“They named him Hound.”


End file.
